one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty−one that everything afterward savors of anti−climax.

And Yale is November, crisp and energetic.

Strange children should smile at each other and say, "Let's play.

Every act of life, from the morning toothbrush to the friend at dinner, became an effort. I hated the night when I couldn't sleep and I hated the day because it went toward night.

"I was counting the waves", replied Amory gravely, "I'm going in for statistics".

An author ought to write for the youth of his own generation, the critics of the next, and the schoolmaster of ever afterwards.

For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened - then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.