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

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

I was always hearing that I was pale and thin and small.

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.

Birth was something that came quite unexpectedly, and afterwards there was one child more in the house.

I encountered among my comrades the most varied human traits, from frankness to reserve, from goodness, uprightness and kindness, to brutality and baseness.

On the whole, the world was friendly. It chiefly depended on whether one were good or not.