We have an ideal of a perfect world, clean and straight and sufficient.

So we cover the earth with foulness; life is a blotch of labour, like insects scurrying in filth, so that your collier can have a pianoforte in his parlour, and you can have a butler and a motor-car in your up-to-date house, and as a nation we can sport the Ritz, or the Empire, Gaby Deslys and the Sunday newspapers.

It is very dreary.' Gerald took a little time to re-adjust himself after this tirade.
'Would you have us live without houses--return to nature ?' he asked.
'I would have nothing at all.

People only do what they want to do--and what they are capable of doing.

If they were capable of anything else, there would be something else.' Again Gerald pondered.