Sublime

All men are mad but the humorist, who cares for nothing and possesses everything.

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The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. Fred had known men to whom he would have been ashamed of confessing the smallness of his scrapes.

Sergei Ivanovich, who knew like no one else how to add some Attic salt8 to the end of a most abstract and serious discussion

“And . . . the worst of it was he was so coarse, so dirty, he had the manners of a pothouse; and . . . and even admitting that he knew he had some of the essentials of a gentleman . . . what was there in that to be proud of? Everyone ought to be a gentleman and more than that . . . and all the same (he remembered) he, too, had done little things

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