Among the delights of Summer were picnics to the woods.

Just about this time, when in imagination I was so great a warrior, I had good use in real life for more strength, as I was no longer taken to school by the nurse, but instead had myself to protect my brother, two years my junior.

I was a town child, it is true, but that did not prevent me enjoying open-air life, with plants and animals.

I was at home then in the world of figures, but not in that of values.

The appalling thing about war is that it kills all love of truth.

But when I was twelve years old I caught my first strong glimpse of one of the fundamental forces of existence, whose votary I was destined to be for life - namely, Beauty.

Dostoevsky preaches the morality of the pariah, the morality of the slave.