You haven't many mental resources, and it might occupy you for a week or two." Gatewood glared.
"You have a pleasant way of putting things this morning, haven't you ?" "I don't want to be pleasant: I want to jar you.

Don't I care enough about you to breakfast with you?
Then I've a right to be pleasantly unpleasant.

I can't bear to watch your mental and spiritual dissolution--a man like you, with all your latent ability and capacity for being nobody in particular--which is the sort of man this nation needs.

Do you want to turn into a club-window gazer like Van Bronk?
Do you want to become another Courtlandt Allerton and go rocking down the avenue--a grimacing, tailor-made sepulcher ?--the pompous obsequies of a dead intellect ?--a funeral on two wavering legs, carrying the corpse of all that should be deathless in a man?
Why, Jack, I'd rather see you in bankruptcy--I'd rather see you trying to lead a double life in a single flat on seven dollars and a half a week--I'd almost rather see you every day at breakfast than have it come to that! "Wake up and get jocund with life! Why, you could have all good citizens stung to death if you chose.

It isn't that I want you to make money; but I want you to worry over somebody besides yourself--not in Wall Street--a pool and its money are soon parted.