f care for the coming
generation, and, especially, of that great love which one day will come
into their lives. It should not be called a "sin"; at the same time it
should not be laughed at and made the subject of a whispered jest.
Sexual laxity should be treated in the same way as dishonesty and
untruthfulness--a sin against oneself, against the beauty of one's own
soul, and against those who believe in us and love us and are our world.
Children should be taught to respect the dignity of their own bodies, of
their own minds and soul; not by leaving them in half-ignorance, but by
telling them everything, and telling them it in the right way--which is
the clean and truthful way.

_The London Season_

If only the people who repeat the words of wisdom uttered by philosophers
lived as if they believed them, how much happier the world would be! It
is, however, so much easier to give, or to repeat, advice, than to follow
it, isn't it? Conventionality is far stronger than common sense, and a
fixed habit more powerful than a revolution. Besides, most people
realise that to give advice is a much more impressive ceremony than
merely to receive it. And I think that the majority of people would far
sooner look _impressive_ than be _wise_. The _appearance_ of a thing
sometimes pleases them far more than the thing itself. Besides, to give
advice is a rather pleasant proceeding, and those who habitually indulge
in it seem incapable of discouragement. They will inform the "rolling
stone" that if he continues his unresisting methods he will gather no
moss, but the rolling stone usually continues to roll merrily onward.
They will protest to the ignorant that "to be good is to be happy," but
very few of them will go out of their way to do good, if, by being "bad,"
they can snatch a personal advantage without anybody being any the wiser.
"Life would be endurable if it were not for its pleasures," they declare
in the face of a pile of social invitations. Yet they still endure that
treadmill of entertainments which makes up a London season, only showing
their real feelings by moaning to themselves in the process. They freely
acknowledge that very few of these entertainments really entertain, but
to miss being seen at them would be to risk a disaster which they would
not dare to take. So they go wearily smiling to amusements which don't
amuse, to dances which are too crowded to dance at, to dinner parties at
which they pay i