Oh, the good world dearly loves to rub elbows with a talented sinner and patronise him and sentimentalise over him--one whose miracles don't hurt their eyes enough to blind them to the pleasant discovery that his halo is tarnished in spots and needs polishing, and that there's a patch on the seat of his carefully creased toga." Neville laughed.

Presently he said: "Until recently I've cherished theories.

One of 'em was to subordinate everything in life to the enjoyment of a single pleasure--the pleasure of work....

I guess experience is putting that theory on the blink." "Surely.

You might as well make an entire meal of one favourite dish.
For a day you could stand it, even like it, perhaps.