Where does any novelist pick up any character? For the most part, in town, to be sure.
The only true infidelity is for a live man to vote himself dead.
Aid my disillusionment, my friend!
Poor fish of Rodondo! in your victimized confidence, you are of the number of those who inconsiderately trust, while they do not understand, human nature.
Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.
Forty years after a battle it is easy for a non-combatant to reason about how it ought to have been fought. It is another thing personally and under fire to direct the fighting while involved in the obscuring smoke of it.