Once he came out with me and found fault with what he termed the loose methods of nature.

I pointed out a hill, and he said that it wasn't so graceful as a mound in the park.

I waved my hand toward a pastoral stretch of valley, and he said, 'Yes, but it isn't Drexel Boulevard.' Art is the mistress of John's mind.

His emotions are never stirred by a simple tune, but the climax of an opera tumbles him over and over in ecstasy.
He is one of the truest of friends, and he is as game as a brook trout.

He has associated with drunkards, but was never drunk; and during his early days in Chicago he lived with gamblers, but he came out an honorable man." "I have been reading his novels," said Henry, "and in places he is as sharp as broken glass." "Yes, but he is too much given to didacticism.