A Writer's Notebook Read Online Free PDF Page B

with him; and then getting tired of her or falling in love with someone else, leave her.”
    To this his reply was: “Well, then I should say that he may follow his instincts only so far as to do no harm to other people.”
    In which case obviously the theory falls to the ground. These, it is plain, are the ideas of a weak man, who has not the strength to combat his desires, but yields like a feather to every wind that blows. And indeed B. has no will, no self-restraint, no courage against any of the accidents of fortune. If he cannot smoke he is wretched; if his food or his wine is bad he is upset; a wet day shatters him. If he doesn’t feel well, he is silent, cast-down and melancholy. The slightest cross, even a difference of opinion will make him angry and sullen. He is a selfish creature, indifferent to other people’s feelings, and the only thing that makes him behave with a semblance of decency is his conventional view of theconduct proper to an English gentleman. He would not cross the road to help a friend, but he would never fail to rise to his feet when a woman entered the room.

    People are never so ready to believe you as when you say things in dispraise of yourself; and you are never so much annoyed as when they take you at your word.

    You worry me as if I was a proverb you were trying to turn into an epigram.
    Anyone can tell the truth, but only very few of us can make epigrams.
    In the nineties, however, we all tried to
.

    â€œDo you know French?”
    â€œOh, well, you know, I can read a French novel when it’s indecent.”

    Cockney
.
    â€œYou are a ’andsome woman.” “Yes, abaht the feet.”
    â€œYou’ve said that before.” “Well, I say it be’ind now.”
    â€œA ’andsome young man with a Roman shiped eye an’ a cast in ’is nose.”
    â€œHow about our Sunday boots now?”
    â€œYou’re very clever! ’Ow many did yer mother ’ave like you?”
    â€œYus, I’ve ’ad fifteen children, an’ only two ’usbinds ter do it on.”
    â€œAh, wot a blessin’ it ’ud be for your family if the Lord see fit ter tike yer.”
    â€œI’ve ’ad two ’usbinds in my time, an’ I ’ope to ’ave another before I die.”
    â€œI do love yer, Florrie.” “Pore feller, wot you must suffer!”

    A woman may be as wicked as she likes, but if she isn’t pretty it won’t do her much good.

    â€œOh, I should hate to be old. All one’s pleasures go.”
    â€œBut others come.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWell, for instance, the contemplation of youth. If I were your age I think it not improbable that I should think you a rather conceited and bumptious man: as it is I consider you a charming and amusing boy.”
    I can’t for the life of me remember who said this to me. Perhaps my Aunt Julia. Anyhow I’m glad I thought it worth making a note of
.

    There is a pleasant irony in the gilded youth who goes to the devil all night and to eight o’clock Mass next morning.

    At a dinner party one should eat wisely but not too well, and talk well but not too wisely.

    The intellect is such a pliable and various weapon that man, provided with it, is practically bereft of all others; but it is a weapon of no great efficacy against instinct.

    The history of human morals is very well brought to light in the course of literature: the writer, with whatever subject he deals, displays the code of morals of his own age. That is the great fault of historical novels; the characters portrayed,while they do acts which are historical, comport themselves according to the moral standard of the writer’s time. The inconsequence is obvious.

    People often feed the hungry so that nothing may disturb their own enjoyment of a good meal.

    In moments of great excitement the common restraints of civilisation lose their force, and men return to the old