Nor is it ever the new man of to-day which grasps his fortune, good or ill.

We are pushed to it by the hundreds of days we have buried, eager ghosts.

And if you have not the habit of taking counsel with them, you are but an instrument in their hands.
My English tongue admonishes me that I have fallen upon a tone resembling one who uplifts the finger of piety in a salon of conversation.

A man's review of the course of his life grows for a moment stringently serious when he beholds the stream first broadening perchance under the light interpenetrating mine just now.
My seconds were young Eckart vom Hof, and the barely much older, though already famous Gregorius Bandelmeyer, a noted mathematician, a savage Republican, lean-faced, spectacled, and long, soft-fingered; a cat to look at, a tiger to touch.

Both of them were animated by detestation of the Imperial uniform.