I saw a gray-haired man a figure of hale age, sitting at a desk and writing.

A priest is a man vowed, trained, and consecrated, a man belonging to a special corps, and necessarily with an intense esprit de corps. He has given up his life to his temple and his god. This is a very excellent thing for the internal vigour of his own priesthood, his own temple. He lives and dies for the honour of his particular god. But in the next town or village is another temple with another god. It is his constant preoccupation to keep his people from that god. Religious cults and priesthoods are sectarian by nature; they will convert, they will overcome, but they will never coalesce.

With wine and food, the confidence of my own table, and the necessity of reassuring my wife, I grew by insensible degrees courageous and secure.

A downtrodden class... will never be able to make an effective protest until it achieves solidarity.

Bah! The thing is not a nose at all, but a bit of primordial chaos clapped on to my face.

Sailors ought never to go to church. They ought to go to hell, where it is much more comfortable.

Alone-- it is wonderful how little a man can do alone! To rob a little, to hurt a little, and there is the end.