Elinor Glyn (17 October 1864 – 9 September 1943), born Elinor Sutherland, was a British novelist, short-story writer and screenwriter. Her lurid and sexually charged romances were a byword in their day.
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- And loveliest sight of all, in front of the fire, stretched at full length, was his tiger – and on him – also at full length – reclined the lady, garbed in some strange clinging garment of heavy purple crepe, its hem embroidered with gold, one white arm resting on the beast's head, her back supported by a pile of the velvet cushions, and a heap of rarely bound books at her side, while between her red lips was a rose not redder than they – an almost scarlet rose.
- Three Weeks (1907), ch. 6.
- A madness of tender caressing seized her. She purred as a tiger might have done, while she undulated like a snake.
- Three Weeks (1907), ch. 11.
- No matter what he does, one always forgives him. It does not depend upon looks, either – although this actual person is abominably good-looking – it does not depend upon intelligence or character or – anything – as you say, it is just "it".
- The Man and the Moment (1914), ch. 7.
- To have "It", the fortunate possessor must have that strange magnetism which attracts both sexes. He or she must be entirely unselfconscious and full of self-confidence, indifferent to the effect he or she is producing, and uninfluenced by others. There must be physical attraction, but beauty is unnecessary.
- Foreword to It, and Other Stories (1927)
- He had that nameless charm, with a strong magnetism which can only be called "It", and cats – as well as women – always knew when he came into the room.
- It, and Other Stories (1927), ch. 1, p. 10.
- Would you like to sin
With Elinor Glyn
On a tiger skin?
Or would you prefer
On some other fur?
- Anonymous rhyme satirising Three Weeks, quoted in J. Lee Thompson Forgotten Patriot (Madison, N.J.:Fairleigh Dickinson Univ. Press, 2007) p. 259
- I have read but little of Madame Glyn. I did not know that things like It were going on. I have misspent my days. When I think of all those hours I flung away in reading Henry James and Santayana, when I might have been reading of life, throbbing, beating, perfumed life, I practically break down.
- Prudent readers will do well to hold Three Weeks at arm's length, unless they want to be cut by flying adjectives.
- S. J. Perelman "Cloudland Revisited: Tuberoses and Tigers", in The Most of S. J. Perelman (London: Mandarin,  1992) p. 282.