Oh, their wild rapture! oh, their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next station were unaccountably Baker Street!" "It is you who are unpoetical," replied the poet Syme.

"If what you say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry.

The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it.

We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird.

Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station?
Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to Bagdad.