I do not scruple to employ mendacity and a fictitious appearance of female incompetence when the occasion demands it.
Marriage, in my view, should be a balanced stalemate between equal adversaries.
Any man with a grain of sense knows that marriage is the only way, these days, to acquire a full-time maid who works twenty-five hours a day, with no time off and no pay except room and board. (p9)
Emerson is a remarkable person, considering that he is a man. Which is not saying a great deal.
For a time Emerson politely endeavored to conceal his boredom – like most men, he is profoundly disinterested in all children except his own – …
When, oh when will justice and reason prevail, and Woman descend from the pedestal on which Man has placed her (in order to prevent her from doing anything except standing perfectly still) and take her rightful place beside him?
I had had my night of weeping…I had purged myself of useless emotions that terrible night, now every nerve every sinew, every thought was bent on a single purpose
Is is difficult to be angry with a gentleman who pays you compliments, even impertinent compliments. Especially impertinent compliments.
Nefret was still pouting when Emerson helped her into the carriage. Emerson did not observe the pout. He would not have observed it (men being what they are) even if something had not distracted him.
The men had scattered in all directions, which men are inclined to do when women leave them to their own devices for any length of time. I believe they are easily bored.
Emerson has what I believe is called a selective memory. He can recall minute details of particular excavations but is likely to forget where he left his hat.
Men like to create unnecessary organizations and give them impressive or mysterious names; this usually ends in increased confusion, and should therefore be ignored.
It was a needless precaution, I felt sure, but men always enjoy marching around with weapons and flexing their figurative muscles, and I saw no reason to deny them this harmless exercise.
I had refused Emerson’s well-meant offers of assistance, knowing his efforts would be confined to moving the furniture to the wrong places and demanding how much longer the process would take.
I fink it is a femuw. A femuw of a winowcowus… A a-stinct winocowus.
My feelings are a fact, not a personal delusion. They are valid for me. What business have you got trying to tell me how I ought to feel?
I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed–though in defense I must add that the raising of Ramses would have discouraged any woman.
Nefret had always had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. ‘Did she cry?’ she asked sweetly. ‘And then you kissed her? You shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure you meant well, but kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake.
I have learned that particularly clever ideas do not always stand up under close scrutiny.
He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, “I love you, Mother.” He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.
…Peabody had better retire to her bed; she is clearly in need of recuperative sleep, she has not made a sarcastic remark for fully ten minutes.
Why is a man with a knife after your blood? Who sent him? I would like to write the fellow a letter of thanks!
Don’t sound so surprised. I have sensible moments, you know.
If she hasn’t learned to appreciate my sterling character and spectacular good looks by this time, it’s not likely she will.
The way to get on with a cat is to treat it as an equal – or even better, as the superior it knows itself to be.
In the silence I heard Bastet, who had retreated under the bed, carrying on a mumbling, profane monologue. (If you ask how I knew it was profane, I presume you have never owned a cat.)
Sekhmet crawled onto Ramses’s lap and began to purr. ‘The creature oozes like a furry slug,’ said Ramses, eyeing it without favor.
The cat required far less attendance than a human child, which is one of the reasons why spinster ladies prefer felines to babies.
The approval of a cat cannot but flatter the recipient.