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

That a literature in our time is living is shown in that way that it debates problems.

When I was a little boy I did not, of course, trouble much about my appearance.

Poor is the power of the lead that becomes bullets compared to the power of the hot metal that becomes types.

I did not know what it was to be happy for a whole day at a time, scarcely for an hour.

The person upon whom the schoolboys' attention centred was, of course, the Headmaster.

Any feeling that I was enriching my mind from those surrounding me was unfortunately rare with me.