Those long lines announced the man of letters, the writer, the workman.

And now I have all the mien of a rich idler; you know not who I may be.

I was the absolute master of my old robe; I am the slave of my new one.

The dragon that guarded the golden fleece was not more restless than I.Care wraps me about.
"The old man who has delivered himself up bound hand and foot to the caprices of a young giddypate, says from morning to night: Ah, where is my old, my kind housekeeper?
What demon possessed me the day that I dismissed her for this creature?
Then he sighs, he weeps.

I do not weep nor sigh; but at every moment I say: Cursed be the man who invented the art of making common stuff precious by dyeing it scarlet! Cursed be the costly robe that I stand in awe of! Where is my old, my humble, my obliging piece of homespun?
"That is not all, my friend.