He was not too much of a Jew to have sympathy with the ambition that dwells in the breasts of women.

Cleopatra had been an evil that he had admired profoundly, because she had attained that which his own soul yearned after but which had eluded him.

Yet he was large enough not to be envious of a success.

He was made of the stuff that seekers of excitement are made of.

If he could not furnish the intoxication of activity he was a ready supporter of that one who could.
"What disorder, then, in the world," she went on, as if she had followed a train of imagination through the triumph of the risen great man.