To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solaces and delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the trite dramatic expression — “I am going away.”
A man with a little money is just like a cat with a bell around its neck. Every rat knows exactly where it is and what it is doing.
It is so hard for us to know what we have not seen. It is so difficult for us to feel what we have not experienced.
Could a broken bowl be mended and called whole?
It might be called whole, but what of it?
Was it not broken and mended?