"This world is governed by minorities—in politics, in religion, in society. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Footprints, and we have to toddle along in them, willy-nilly; and those who have the courage to step outside the appointed path are called pariahs!"
"I'm afraid I shall not like this world very much. It is putting all my dreams out of joint."
"Never let the unknown edge in upon your courage. The world is like a peppery horse. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble."
"It's all so big and aloof. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating.
He drew her away from this thought. "I read those stories."
"Are they good?"
"He can write; but he hasn't found anything real to write about. He hasn't found himself, as they say. He's rewriting Poe and De Maupassant; and that stuff was good only when Poe and De Maupassant wrote it."
"How do you spell the last name?"
He spelt it. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. Poe is all right, if you don't mind nightmares. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Before you go I'll give you a list of books to read."
"There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?"