E. V. Lucas, Excerpt from "Over Bemerton's: An Easy-going Chronicle"

     "The art of life," says Trist, "is the pigeon-holing of women." True enough of Englishmen, at any rate, who want women only when they want them (and then they must behave); but no Frenchman would say it.
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to say the same things to everybody. To differentiate one's treatment of people may be interesting, but it leads to complications."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to assume that no one else has any feelings."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is the use and not abuse of alcohol. A wise aperitif can make a bad dinner almost good, and a bad partner almost negligible."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to be so well known at a good restaurant that you can pay by cheque."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to make your tailor come to you."
     "The art of life," says Trist, who hates gossip, "is never to see two unrelated people together; but if you must,--and it can't be helped very easily,--never to mention it again. Three-quarters of the ills of life proceed from the report that So-and-so has been seen with So-and-so. There is too much talk. A wise autocrat would cut out the tongue of every baby. A silent society would probably be a happy one; because it would be largely without scandal." That seemed to me, I said, too drastic, and I recommended instead the example (from my Chinese book) of Hsin Shao, of the second and third century A.D., "who is now chiefly remembered in connection with his practice of devoting the first day of every month to criticism of his neighbors and their conduct."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is never to be out of small change."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to keep down acquaintances. One's friends one can manage, but one's acquaintances can be the devil."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to show your hand. There is no diplomacy like candour. You may lose by it now and then, but it will be a loss well gained if you do. Nothing is so boring as having to keep up a deception."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to live near a post office, but never to go there one's self."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is never to think you know what other people are feeling about you. You are sure to be wrong."
     "The art of life," says Trist, "is to be thought odd. Everything will then be permitted to you. The best way to be thought odd is to return a cheque now and then on a conscientious scruple. There is no such investment."
     Trist also has a very interesting and ingenious theory that goes more deeply into the management of life. "I do not believe," he once said to me, "in carving out our own destiny, but I believe that the unexpected happens so often, and the expected so seldom, that one might by steadily anticipating ills avoid calamity."
     Trist, however, is not really as monstrous as these maxims would make him out to be. For the full play of his personality he must undoubtedly be calm and prosperous and spoiled; but once he is in that state of bliss he can be extraordinarily kind. One would not see him carrying a poor woman's bundle, or putting himself out over a street casualty, but he has befriended several young artists and musicians, and he lends money capriciously to needy persons at the very moment when money means most to them. He likes to play Fate.

--Edward Verall Lucas, Over Bemerton's: An Easy-going Chronicle, Chapter X