From ‘After Many A Summer’ by Aldous Huxley

…..the perfect message – the message his mother expected of him, at once tender and witty, charged with genuine devotion ironically worded, acknowledging her maternal determination but at the same time making fun of it, so that the old lady could salve her conscience by pretending that her son was entirely free and herself the least tyrannical of mothers


The frightfulness of the world had reached a point at which it had become for him merely boring


Her admiration gave him an intense satisfaction. ‘Oh, it's quite easy,’ he said with hypocritical modesty, angling for more


Patients belonged to three classes: those that imagined they were sick but weren’t; those that were sick, but would get well anyhow; those that were sick and would be much better dead


‘……because it's a fact.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ said Jeremy in a tone which implied that more civilized people didn’t suffer from these hallucinations


A comic spectacle, Mr. Propter reflected as he looked at him; except of course, that it was so extremely depressing.


How disastrous when a man knows how to say the wrong things in the right way


Art can be a lot of things; but in actual practice most of it is merely the mental equivalent of alcohol and cantharides