It Reads Better Than It Lives

The Conventional Parabola--sentiment, The Touch Of The Hand, The Kiss, The Passionate Kiss, The Feel Of The Body, The Climax In The Bed, Then More Bed, Then Less Bed, Then The Boredom, The Tears And The Final Bitterness--was To Him Shameful And Hypocritical.

It Reads Better Than It Lives

Above All, He Liked It That Everything Was One's Own Fault. There Was Only Oneself To Praise Or Blame. Luck Was A Servant And Not A Master. Luck Had To Be Accepted With A Shrug Or Taken Advantage Of Up To The Hilt. But It Had To Be Understood And Recognized For What It Was And Not Confused With A Faulty Appreciation Of The Odds, For, At Gambling, The Deadly Sin Is To Mistake Bad Play For Bad Luck. And Luck In All Its Moods Had To Be Loved And Not Feared

I'm Getting Very Sorry For The Devil And His Disciples Such As The Good Le Chiffre. The Devil Has A Rotten Time And I Always Like To Be On The Side Of The Underdog. We Don't Give The Poor Chap A Chance...the Devil Had No Prophets To Write His Ten Commandments And No Team Of Authors To Write His Biography.

Englishmen Are So Odd. They Are Like A Nest Of Chinese Boxes. It Takes A Very Long Time To Get To The Centre Of Them. When One Gets There The Result Is Unrewarding, But The Process Is Instructive And Entertaining.