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

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

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

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

But I did not find any positive inspiration in my studies until I approached my nineteenth year.

My father, though, could run very much faster. It was impossible to compete with him on the grass. But it was astonishing how slow old people were. Some of them could not run up a hill and called it trying to climb stairs.

A love for humanity came over me, and watered and fertilised the fields of my inner world which had been lying fallow, and this love of humanity vented itself in a vast compassion.