I imagine coquetry is a more obstinate malady even than priggishness, and, Heaven knows, I tried hard enough to get rid of that." "I hoped you would," admitted Corinna.

"But, dear boy, the way to make you human--and you've never been really human all through, you know--was not with a uniform and glory." She was talking flippantly, for they made a pretence now of alluding lightly to his years in France--he had gone into the war before his country--and to the nervous malady, the disabled will, he had brought back.

"What you need is not to win more esteem, but to lose some that you've got.

Your salvation lies in the opposite direction from where flags are waving.

If you could only deliberately arrange to do something that would lower your reputation in the eyes of gouty old gentlemen or mothers with marriageable daughters! If you could manage to get your nose broken, or elope with a chorus girl, or commit an unromantic murder, I should begin to have hopes of you." "I may do something as bad some day and surprise you." "It would surprise me.