For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say? --some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning--indeed they did.

The world is crammed with delightful things

That would be a glorious life, to addict oneself to perfection; to follow the curve of the sentence wherever it might lead, into deserts, under drifts of sand, regardless of lures, of seductions; to be poor always and unkempt; to be ridiculous in Piccadilly.

Nothing, I know, had any chance against death.

But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.

to teach without zest is a crime.

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.