John Galsworthy

“ Every feature, graven on my brain, rises now before me. The living stream ever flowing from its four sides into those inexorable doors, the sweet scents wafted from the gardens on the left, the fantastic shadows of the palms, the strains of 'Carmen' from the band playing in the verandah, the feverish throb of humanity under those quiet and starry heavens. ”

“ Why do I live? Pardieu, I know not, having had my day—and what a day! Do they not say, 'Every dog must have his day'? Tiens, this dog has had his, and it is that, and that alone, which keeps him alive. ”

“ Body and soul am I like unto the battered old friend I sit in. In sooth, I think as I crouch here over my fire, that I am but as the dead, man without hope, without desire, without a future, without a present—can he live? Yes; for he is sitting here to-night like an old dog, with the same folds in the cheeks, and the same yearning in the eyes. A thousand curses on the Congo and its deathly fever!—but for that might I still be man with future before me, but who can stand against this devil's gnawing that never ceases?—not I, for one. ”

“ Dark with all the passions, scowling malignant, a face glares from a shrouded corner of the room upon that white-robed form. Passionate love, passionate hate, passionate jealousy—who shall say what is in that face? ”

“ That beardless youth with the bright eyes and black hair, enjoying life as none but a Pole can enjoy, before his country has laid her curse of melancholy upon him. Twenty years is a good span of time, but it seems more than twenty hundred since De Barsac pressed those five francs into my indifferent hand, and bade me go forth and seek the price of that feast, eaten not wisely but too well. ”

“ Standing opposite to him is a tall woman with dark eyes, lovely to behold, and she is watching him with a curious look, not of pity, not of contempt, not of passion, yet with something of all three. He starts, half rising, and makes a motion to leave the table. ”

“ Come, turn over.
Nay, not even the strength for that; thou hast had thy dose of life for the day, and the barrel-organ is gone, and thou art tired, and the fire is low, and the cigarette—pouf—it is but ashes. ”

“ A howl of amaze and delight bursts forth, and le petit is enveloped in several pairs of arms, until he wriggles out, and dives under the table, where he sits in comparative security, while the President pays the bill, divides the spoil, and delivers a homily upon 'le chance,' rendered palatable by bumpers of champagne. ”

“ Even now, as I sit watching the dying embers, what pictures can I not see through the smoke that wreathes from my cigarette.
Hark! What's that? 'Carmen!' as I live, a battered hulk; 'Carmen,' and on a barrel-organ! Ah, ha! Good, for your dingy London streets—they help the picture for once.
••••••
I see a room, warm and light; the green blinds are drawn, the polished floor reflects the softly-shaded lights; in the centre a table loaded with things loved of the soul, and—is it the same thing, perhaps?—the palate ”