I felt like a paper flag thrown in a tempest.
The human being is a ridiculously small piece. Nature plays with it and kills it when she pleases.
I cannot blame Balboa for his fancy, because he caught his first view from the peak in Darien.
It’s not the “Pacific Ocean.” The breaker of the world!
“Do you feel any better?” inquired my fellow passenger.
He is the new minister to the City of Mexico on his way to his post. My uncle is one of his closest friends.
What if Meriken ladies should mistake me for the “sweet” wife of such a shabby pock-marked gentleman?
It will be all right, I thought, for we shall part at San Francisco.
(The pock-mark is rare in America, Uncle said. No country has a special demand for it, I suppose.)
His boyish carelessness and samurai-fashioned courtesy are characteristic. His great laugh, “Ha, ha, ha!” echoes on half a mile.