What do you mean by God? When you fleece you're sorry When you're fleeced you're sick Where Beauty was, nothing ever ran quite straight Whole world was in conspiracy to limit freedom With the wisdom of a long life old JoIyon did not speak Witticism of which he was not the author was hardly to his taste Wonderful finality about a meal You have to buy experience THE FORSYTE SAGA: VOLUME 3. AWAKENING & TO LET /gutenberg/etext01/tolet10.txt PASSAGES FROM THE TEXT: Coercion was unpopular, parents had exalted notions of giving their offspring a good time. They spoiled their rods, spared their children, and anticipated the results with enthusiasm. And yet, in his inner tissue, there was something of the old founder of his family, a secret tenacity of soul, a dread of showing his feelings, a determination not to know when he was beaten. Sensitive, imaginative, affectionate boys get a bad time at school, but Jon had instinctively kept his nature dark, and been but normally unhappy there LINES FROM THE TEXT: A philosopher when he has all that he wants is different Accustomed to assurance in the youthful manner Adept at keeping things to herself Admiration of beauty and longing for possession are not love Afraid to enjoy to-day for fear he might not enjoy tomorrow All else, then, was but preliminary to this! But they could not keep his eyebrows down Can you stand this spiritualistic racket? Clear eyes and an almost depressing amount of common sense Could fear go with a smile? Delicacy became a somewhat minor consideration Determination not to know when he was beaten Difficult it is for elders to give themselves away to the young Dinner--consecrated to the susceptibilities of the butler Disliked the idea of dying Felt suddenly he might say things she would regret Fixed idea Guileless snobbery of youth How much better than men women play a waiting game I've got it in the neck, only the feeling is really lower down Inoculated against the germs of love by small doses Lest by some dreadful inadvertence they might drop into a tune Life's awful like a lot of monkeys scramblin' for empty nuts Like a man uninsured, with his ships at sea Lunch was the sort a man dreams of but seldom gets Malaise of one who contemplates himself as seen by another Men were judged in this world rather by what they were Nobody can spoil a life, my dear One does not precisely choose with whom one will fall in love Only sort of life that doesn't hurt anybody; except art Parasitically clinging on to the effortless close of a life Private possession underlay everything worth having Purpose of marriage was children, not mere sinful happiness Question so moot that it was not mooted Quiet tenacity with which he had converted a mediocre talent Spoiled their rods, spared their children Take himself seriously, yet never bore others Tarred with cynicism, realism, and immorality like the French The young have such cheap, hard judgment