His mind was crowded with memories; memories of the knowledge that had come to them when they closed in on the struggling pig, knowledge that they had outwitted a living thing, imposed their will upon it, taken away its life like a long satisfying drink.

As soon as Oliver Twist is serialized, people who would never dream of reading [Charles] Dickens, if they hadn't seen him on their box, buy the paperback.

The world, that understandable and lawful world, was slipping away.

Art is partly communication, but only partly. The rest is discovery.

Which is better, law and rescue, or hunting and breaking things up?

Towards midnight the rain ceased and the clouds drifted away, so that the sky was scattered once more with the incredible lamps of stars.

There's a kinship among men who have sat by a dying fire and measured the worth of their life by it.