My first few weeks in America are always miserable, because the tastes I am cursed with are all of a kind that cannot be gratified here, and I am not enough in sympathy with our gross public to make up for the lack on the aesthetic side. One's friends are delightful; but we are none of us Americans, we don't think or feel as the Americans do, we are the wretched exotics produced in a European glass-house, the most displaced and useless class on earth!

In reality they all lived in a kind of hieroglyphic world, where the real thing was never said or done or even thought, but only represented by a set of arbitrary signs.

Her vivid smile was like a light held up to dazzle me.

And all the while, I suppose," he thought, "real people were living somewhere, and real things happening to them.

One can remain alive ... if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity interested in big things and happy in small ways.

There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.

Who's 'they'? Why don't you all get together and be 'they' yourselves?