Don't Be So Damned Discouraging," Said Wimsey.

The Business Of The Artist Is Not To Escape From His Material Medium Or Bully It, But To Serve It; But To Serve It, He Must Love It. If He Does So, He Will Realise That In Its Service Is Perfect Freedom.

A Human Being Must Have Occupation If He Or She Is Not To Become A Nuisance To The World.

It Is The First Duty Of A Gentleman To Remember In The Morning Who He Went To Bed With The Night Before.

I Think This Co-operative Scheme Is An Uncommonly Good One. It's Much Easier To Work On Someone Else's Job Than One's Own - Gives One That Delightful Feelin' Of Interferin' And Bossin' About, Combined With The Glorious Sensation That Another Fellow Is Takin' All One's Own Work Off One's Hands.

She Suddenly Saw Wimsey In A New Light. She Knew Him To Be Intelligent, Clean, Courteous, Wealthy, Well-read, Amusing And Enamored, But He Had Not So Far Produced In Her That Crushing Sense Of Inferiority Which Leads To Prostration And Hero-worship. But She Now Realized That There Was, After All, Something Godlike About Him. He Could Control A Horse.