He knew by heart every last minute crack on its surface. He had made maps of the ceiling and gone exploring on them; rivers, islands, and continents. He had made guessing games of it and discovered hidden objects; faces, birds, and fishes. He made mathematical calculations of it and rediscovered his childhood; theorems, angles, and triangles. There was practically nothing else he could do but look at it. He hated the sight of it.

Nothing puts things in perspective as quickly as a mountain.

Nothing great ever came out of common sense.

Truth isn’t in accounts but in account-books.

It is not possible to love and be wise.

One would expect boredom to be a great yawning emotion, but it isn't, of course. It's a small niggling thing.

Fasting was good for the imagination but bad for logic.