I slept beside a spring last night, and I never shall like a bedroom so well.

I think I have discovered the great secret: I may be wrong, of course.' And if so, he had his philosophy, the admission was meant to say.
Carinthia expected the revelation of a notable secret, but none came; or if it did it eluded her grasp:--he was praising contemplation, he was praising tobacco.

He talked of the charm of poverty upon a settled income of a very small sum of money, the fruit of a compact he would execute with the town to agree to his perpetual exclusion from it, and to retain his identity, and not be the composite which every townsman was.

He talked of Buddha.

He said: 'Here the brook's the brook, the mountain's the mountain: they are as they always were.' 'You'd have men be the same,' Chillon remarked as to a nursling prattler, and he rejoined: 'They've lost more than they've gained; though, he admitted, 'there has been some gain, in a certain way.' Fortunately for them, young men have not the habit of reflecting upon the indigestion of ideas they receive from members of their community, sometimes upon exchange.