He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized.

The afternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised.

Even when everything seems rotten you can't trust that judgment. It's the sum of all your judgments that counts.

One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual.

Human sympathy has its limits, and we were contented to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind.

He had possessed the arrogance of a tall member of a short race, with no obligation save to be tall.

It’s just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel they’re never coming again, and I’m not really getting all I could out of them.