"I hope I have done right." He scarcely understood what she meant, and his expression did not change.
"You could not do anything that was not right," he answered.
Perhaps such a being as Marcello would be an impossibility anywhere but in Italy.

Modern life tears privacy to tatters, and privacy is the veil of the temple of home, within which every extreme of human development is possible, good and bad.

Take privacy away and all the strangely compound fractions of humanity are soon reduced to a common denomination.

In Italy life has more privacy than anywhere else west of Asia.

The Englishman is fond of calling his home his castle, but it is a thoroughfare, a market-place, a club, a hotel, a glass house, compared with that of an average Italian.