That's my purpose.

Also, I have enjoyed working it out." "The creative joy," I murmured.
"I guess that's what it ought to be called.

Which is another way of expressing the joy of life in that it is alive, the triumph of movement over matter, of the quick over the dead, the pride of the yeast because it is yeast and crawls." I threw up my hands with helpless disapproval of his inveterate materialism and went about making the bed.

He continued copying lines and figures upon the transparent scale.

It was a task requiring the utmost nicety and precision, and I could not but admire the way he tempered his strength to the fineness and delicacy of the need.
When I had finished the bed, I caught myself looking at him in a fascinated sort of way.