Of all the inanimate objects, of all men's creations, books are the nearest to us for they contain our very thoughts, our ambitions, our indignations, our illusions, our fidelity to the truth, and our persistent leanings to error. But most of all they resemble us in their precious hold on life.

The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much.

He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away.

Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot placate it by threats, persuasion, or bribes.

It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.

It is a maudlin and indecent verity that comes out through the strength of wine.

And perhaps in this is the whole difference; perhaps all the wisdom, and all truth, and all sincerity, are just compressed into that inappreciable moment of time in which we step over the threshold of the invisible.