Only You're Right In Saying She's Too

That Kind Of Patriotism Which Consists In Hating All Other Nations.

It Seemed As Though He Gave Way All At Once; He Was So Languid That He Could Not Control His Thoughts; They Would Wander To Her; They Would Bring Back The Scene,- Not Of His Repulse And Rejection The Day Before But The Looks, The Actions Of The Day Before That. He Went Along The Crowded Streets Mechanically, Winding In And Out Among The People, But Never Seeing Them, -almost Sick With Longing For That One Half-hour-that One Brief Space Of Time When She Clung To Him, And Her Heart Beat Against His-to Come Once Again.

I Never Did Write A Biography, And I Don't Exactly Know How To Set About It; You See I Have To Be Accurate And Keep To The Facts, A Most Difficult Thing For A Writer Of Fiction.

He Had Tenderness In His Heart — ‘a Soft Place,’ As Nicholas Higgins Called It; But He Had Some Pride In Concealing It; He Kept It Very Sacred And Safe, And Was Jealous Of Every Circumstance That Tried To Gain Admission. But If He Dreaded Exposure Of His Tenderness, He Was Equally Desirous That All Men Should Recognize His Justice; And He Felt That He Had Been Unjust, In Giving So Scornful A Hearing To Anyone Who Had Waited, With Humble Patience, For Five Hours, To Speak To Him.

Waiting Is Far More Difficult Than Doing.