For the only thing wrong about that admirable man is that he is blind about himself.
No man will really attempt to describe his feelings, when he first stood at the gateway of the grave of Christ.

The only record relevant here is that I did not feel the reaction, not to say repulsion, that many seem to have felt about its formal surroundings.
Either I was particularly fortunate or others are particularly fastidious.

The guide who showed me the Sepulchre was not particularly noisy or profane or palpably mercenary; he was rather more than less sympathetic than the same sort of man who might have shown me Westminster Abbey or Stratford-on-Avon.

He was a small, solemn, owlish old man, a Roman Catholic in religion; but so far from deserving the charge of not knowing the Bible, he deserved rather a gentle remonstrance against his assumption that nobody else knew it.

If there was anything to smile at, in associations so sacred, it was the elaborate simplicity with which he told the first facts of the Gospel story, as if he were evangelising a savage.