Twenty-two
There’s nothing like a corpse for putting everything at sixes and sevens.
Twenty-three
Great grief is democratic, levelling—not downwards but upwards. It strips away the inessential and makes brothers. It is impatient with all the unavailable inventions which obscure the brotherhood of mankind.
Twenty-four
The expression of the soul by means of the brain and body is what we call the art of “living.”
Twenty-five
That Christmas has lost some of its magic is a fact that the common-sense of the western hemisphere will not dispute. To blink the fact is infantile. To confront it, to try to understand it, to reckon with it, and to obviate any evil that may attach to it—this course alone is meet for an honest man.
Twenty-six
It must be admitted in favour of the Five Towns that, when its inhabitants spill milk, they do not usually sit down on the pavement and adulterate the milk with their tears. They pass on. Such passing on is termed callous and coldhearted in the rest of England, which loves to sit down on pavements and weep into irretrievable milk.