So it has been with our greatest, so it must be with the rest of them, or we shall have a Transatlantic literature.

By no means desirable, I think.
Yet, see: when a piece of Transatlantic slang happens to be tellingly true--something coined from an absolute experience; from a fight with the elements--we cannot resist it: it invades us.

In the same way poetic rashness of the right quality enriches the language.

I would make it prove its quality." Cornelia walked on gravely.

His excuse for dilating on the theme, prompted her to say: "You give me new views": while all her reflections sounded from the depths: "And yet, the man who talks thus is a hired organ-player!" This recurring thought, more than the cogency of the new views, kept her from combating certain fallacies in them which had struck her.
"Why do you not write yourself, Mr.Barrett ?" "I have not the habit." "The habit!" "I have not heard the call." "Should it not come from within ?" "And how are we to know it ?" "If it calls to you loudly!" "Then I know it to be vanity." "But the wish to make a name is not vanity." "The wish to conceal a name may exist." Cornelia took one of those little sly glances at his features which print them on the brain.