The sadness of the incomplete, the sadness that is often Life, but should never be Art.

Either life entails courage, or it ceases to be life.

America is rather like life. You can usually find in it what you look for It will probably be interesting, and it is sure to be large.

They go forth [into the world] with well-developed bodies, fairly developed minds and undeveloped hearts. An undeveloped heart - not a cold one. The difference is important.

It is obvious enough for the reader to conclude, "She loves young Emerson." A reader in Lucy's place would not find it obvious. Life is easy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice, and we welcome "nerves" or any other shibboleth that will cloak our personal desire. She loved Cecil; George made her nervous; will the reader explain to her that the phrases should have been reversed?

...the true spirit of gastronomic joylessness. Porridge fills the Englishman up, and prunes clear him out.

Outside the arch, always there seemed another arch. And beyond the remotest echo, a silence.