““It was a perfectly good word – until Eliot got hold of it. It’s spoiled for me now. Eliot did to the word love what the Russians did to the word democracy. If Eliot is going to love everybody, no matter what they are, no matter what they do, then those of us who love particular people for particular reasons had better find ourselves a new word.’ He looked up at an oil painting of his deceased wife. ‘For instance – I loved her more than I loved our garbage collector, which makes me guilty of the most unspeakable of modern crimes: Dis-crimi-nay-tion.””
