“It is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one's own personality. Good prose is like a windowpane.”
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Not to expose your true feelings to an adult seems to be instinctive from the age of seven or eight onwards.
We have now sunk to a depth at which restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men.
Happiness can exist only in acceptance.
It is almost universally felt that when we call a country democratic we are praising it consequently, the defenders of every kind of regime claim that it is a democracy, and fear that they might have to stop using the word if it were tied down to any one meaning.