On Modern Manners by Peter King

Author:Peter King [King, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: morality, society, aphorisms, conservatism, pessimism, psychology
ISBN: 9781912975174
Publisher: Arktos Media Ltd.
Published: 2019-02-18T23:00:00+00:00

III

Of course, the loss was unfortunate, but think what he had gained in sympathy.

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The arrangements may have been haphazard, but the conflict, when it came, was real enough.

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He was still expectant: he was unaware that the decision had already been made.

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He had disarmed the others by shows of incompetence, and now he felt he could simply wait, sure that they expected nothing.

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Why take risks when there are others who can be encouraged to act on your behalf.

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He knew enough about her to know it would end badly. But he was determined to enjoy it while he could, if only for her sake.

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If you are to be caught make sure you choose your captor well.

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Nothing could deter him, not even the certainty of failure.

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She knew little of the future, but was assured all would be well, and that being wrong in the past meant nothing.

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He would have won if only he had known what winning looked like.

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The accident had affected him badly. He no longer felt able to blame others.

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I sent my condolences, although apologies might have been more appropriate.

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He avoided disappointment by the simple expedient of not trying.

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She did not share his feelings: what he took to be a chaperone was actually her bodyguard.

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He may have been unlucky in love, but he was still free to try again.

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Doubtless there was still much for her to learn, but she knew now that she could persuade others of her seriousness. And without too much blood.

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Antipathy came with time. Familiarity could not be bought.

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Unfairly branded a liar, he confected an excuse and left.

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He would not risk his sanity for someone who could not love him equally madly.

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I am optimistic about the past, so long as we can still reshape it.

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She found sadistic pleasure in baking.

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It may have been only a whim, but it still cost him dearly.

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At the time she thought nothing of it. Now she thinks of little else.

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It was now just a pretence, joyless but necessary to them both.

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No heart, no soul, no empathy. Just a machine that spoke, ate and shat.

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Whatever excuses she could make for him, however she rationalised his behaviour, ultimately she knew he acted out of spite.

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No one now knew the cause, but the effects were clear to everyone.

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His first reaction was always negative, and it was invariably right.

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What consolation could there possibly be? Whether death was the end or not, he knew he had lost this particular battle.

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Coming, happy or not!

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He was blunt: he told them the obfuscation had to continue.

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It had degraded over the years and there was now barely a trace left of all that wasted effort.

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It was a shambles, certainly, but the great show of insincere condolence amused him greatly.

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It doesn’t matter if there is no ending. All we need is the ability to start.

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In that one moment he saw it all: the joy, the pain, the transcendence, his death. Why did he have to look for so long?

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Her argument lacked clarity, but it had a certain weight, and that persuaded him.

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Succinct, but forever open.

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