"Too much beauty is as bad as too little." "And why is that?
Surely it must be good for one to be surrounded by inspiring things ?" "I am not sure that beauty does inspire anything except content," he answered, smiling.

"I call this garden of yours, for instance, a most vicious place, a perfect lotus-eater's Paradise.

Positively, I feel the energy slipping out of my bones as I sit here." "Then you shall be chained to that seat," she threatened.

"You will not be able to go to Manchester and make trouble, and my uncle will be able to sleep at nights." "I feel that everything in life is slipping away from me," he protested.
"I ought to be thinking over what lam going to say to your country people, and instead of that I am wondering whether there is anything more beautiful in the world than the blue haze over your meadows." She laughed, and moved her parasol a little so that she could see him better.
"You know," she said, "my uncle declares that if only you could be taught to imbibe a little more of the real philosophy of living, you would become quite a desirable person." "And what is the real philosophy of living ?" "Just now, with him, it is the laissez faire, the non-interference with the essential forces of life, especially the forces that concern other people," she explained.
He looked at her, a little startled.

What instinct, he wondered, had led her to place her finger upon the one poison spot in his thoughts?
"I can see," he remarked, "that I have found my way into a dangerous neighbourhood." She changed her position a little, so as to face him.