I want now to be of today. It is painful to be conscious of two worlds. The Wandering Jew in me seeks forgetfulness.

A proper autobiography is a death-bed confession.

A long past vividly remembered is like a heavy garment that clings to your limbs when you would run.

There was one public school for boys, and one for girls, but Jewish children were admitted in limited numbers - only ten to a hundred; and even the lucky ones had their troubles.

[I began to unload] the pyramid of honors, civic and literary, which had been heaped on me by the headlong process of rewarding a popular success. One day, I sat down and wrote a wholesale lot of letters of resignation. When I finished, I didn't belong to a single authors club or patriotic society. I was myself again, whatever that was.

Among the liveliest of my memories are those of eating and drinking; and I would sooner give up some of my delightful remembered walks, green trees, cool skies, and all, than to lose my images of suppers eaten on Sabbath evenings at the end of those walks.

The apex of my civic pride and personal contentment was reached on the bright September morning when I entered the public school.