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I've loved 'Vanity Fair' since I was 16 years old. You know, we're all colonial hangovers in India, steeped in English literature. It is one of these novels that I read under the covers at my convent boarding school in Simla.
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Who would ever give up the reality of dreams for relative knowledge?
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It's Sanjit. It's a Hindu name. It means 'invincible.'" "That's great," Lana said. "Invincible. I can't be vinced." "That's not even a word," Lana said. "Go ahead: try to vince me," Sanjit said.
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I am going to put myself to sleep now for a bit longer than usual. Call it Eternity
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This one guy's wife is such a pretty brown thing, that I'm liable to give her a poke or two. Whaddaya think of that?
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Here is the trap you are in.... And it's not my trap—I haven't trapped you. Because abortions are illegal, women who need and want them have no choice in the matter, and you—because you know how to perform them—have no choice, either. What has been violated here is your freedom of choice, and every woman's freedom of choice, too. If abortion was legal, a woman would have a choice—and so would you. You could feel free not to do it because someone else would. But the way it is, you're trapped. Women are trapped. Women are victims, and so are you.
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Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.
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Golf is deceptively simple, endlessly complicated. A child can play it well and a grown man can never master it. It is almost a science, yet it is a puzzle with no answer.
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After all, no one is ever taken in by the happy ending, but we are often divinely fuddled by the tragic curtain.
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The inquiry constantly is what will please, not what will benefit the people. In such a government there can be nothing but temporary expedient, fickleness, and folly.
