Like Those Crabs Which Dress Themselves With

The Detective Story Itself Is In A Dilemma. It Is A Vein Which Is In Danger Of Being Worked Out, The Demand Is Constant, The Powers Of Supply Variable, And The Reader, With Each One He Absorbs, Grows A Little More Sophisticated And Harder To Please, While The Novelist, After Each One He Writes, Becomes A Little More Exhausted.

No-one Was Ever Made Wretched In A Brothel.

Most Of The Beauty Of Women Evaporates When They Achieve Domestic Happiness At The Price Of Their Independence.

We Must Select The Illusion Which Appeals To Our Temperament, And Embrace It With Passion, If We Want To Be Happy.

In The Sex-war, Thoughtlessness Is A Weapon Of The Male, Vindictiveness Of The Female. Both Are Reciprocally Generated, But A Woman's Desire For Revenge Outlasts All Other Emotion. Yet When Every Unkind Word About Women Has Been Said, We Have Still To Admit, With Byron, That They Are Nicer Than Men. They Are More Devoted, More Unselfish And More Emotionally Sincere. When The Long Fuse Of Cruelty, Deceit And Revenge Is Set Alight, It Is Male Thoughtlessness Which Has Fired It.