“«You talk glibly.»
«It's not all rubbish,» cried Amory passionately. «This is the first time in my life I've argued Socialism. It's the only panacea I know. I'm restless. My whole generation is restless. I'm sick of a system where the richest man gets the most beautiful girl if he wants her, where the artist without an income has to sell his talents to a button manufacturer.
Even if I had no talents I'd not be content to work ten years, condemned either to celibacy or a furtive indulgence, to give some man's son an automobile.»
«But, if you're not sure—» «That doesn't matter,» exclaimed Amory.”