Thinking is the great enemy of perfection.
The habit of profound reflection, I am compelled to say, is the most pernicious of all the habits formed by the civilized man.
But I wouldn't be suspected even remotely of making fun of Axel Heyst.

I have always liked him.

The flesh-and-blood individual who stands behind the infinitely more familiar figure of the book I remember as a mysterious Swede right enough.

Whether he was a baron, too, I am not so certain.

He himself never laid claim to that distinction.