I describe not men, but manners; not an individual, but a species.

I am content; that is a blessing greater than riches; and he to whom that is given need ask no more.

They are the affectation of affectation.

To whom nothing is given, of him can nothing be required.

I've studied men from my topsy-turvy Close, and I reckon, rather true. Some are fine fellows: some, right scurvy; Most, a dash between the two.

'We're all monsters,' said Daisy with enthusiasm. 'It's the Age of Monsters.'

It seems that the analysis of character is the highest human entertainment. And literature does it, unlike gossip, without mentioning real names.