There isn't a street, or a public building, or a statue, or a fountain, or a thing that doesn't shout at you, 'Look at me! Think about me! Your admiration or your life!' Those Frenchmen don't mind it because it only repeats what they're always saying themselves, but if you're a foreigner it gets on your nerves.

That city is too uniformly fine to be of much use to me--it keeps me all the time wondering why I'm not in one eternal good humour to match.

There's good old London now--always looks, I should think, just as you feel.

Looks like history, too, and change, and contrast, and the different varieties of the human lot." "I see what you mean, poppa," I said.

"There's too much equality in Paris, isn't there--to be interesting," but the Senator was too deeply engaged in getting out momma's smelling salts to corroborate this interpretation.
It is a very long way to Genoa if you don't stop at Aix-les-Bains or anywhere--twenty-four hours--but Mont Cenis occurs in the night, which is suitable in a tunnel.