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

The war imbued my tin soldiers with quite a new interest. It was impossible to have boxes enough of them.

It gradually dawned upon me that there was no one more difficult to please than my mother.

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

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.

I was not afraid of what I did not like. To overcome dislike of a thing often satisfied one's feeling of honour.