But nevertheless, the fact remained, it was almost impossible to dislike anyone if one looked at them.
It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
Each had his own business to think of. Each had his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart; and his friends could only read the title.
Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.
Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.
Books should stand on their own feet ... If they need shoring up by a preface here, an introduction there, they have no more right to exist than a table that needs a wad of paper under one leg in order to stand steady.