There were no such queer-tasting draughts as some of those yielded by the bucket that had repeatedly, as he imagined, touched the bottom of the well.

"Now this sudden invasion of somebody's--heaven knows whose--house, and our dropping down on it like a swarm of locusts: I dare say it isn't civil to criticise it when one's going too, so almost culpably, with the stream; but what are people made of that they consent, just for money, to the violation of their homes ?" Nanda wondered; she cultivated the sense of his making her intensely reflect, "But haven't people in England always let their places ?" "If we're a nation of shopkeepers, you mean, it can't date, on the scale on which we show it, only from last week?
No doubt, no doubt, and the more one thinks of it the more one seems to see that society--for we're IN society, aren't we, and that's our horizon ?--can never have been anything but increasingly vulgar.

The point is that in the twilight of time--and I belong, you see, to the twilight--it had made out much less how vulgar it COULD be.

It did its best very probably, but there were too many superstitions it had to get rid of.

It has been throwing them overboard one by one, so that now the ship sails uncommonly light.
That's the way"-- and with his eyes on the golden distance he ingeniously followed it out--"I come to feel so the lurching and pitching.