Sublime

“‘Turning me into a vulgar Jew,’ Harold said, ‘what have I done to make me so malicious? I’ve boxed with you, played tennis with you, brought you oysters from Prunier, bottles of Pouilly-Fuissé, introduced you to influential people, helped you meet Paris publishers, only to have people everywhere pointing—There goes Harold Loeb, the repulsive Jew i

The dead, blind wall butts all inquiring heads at last.

Marlowe stands close and lights it for him, smelling of hair cream and something else as well. The faintest whiff of brimstone. Marlowe enjoys a different kind of immortality, achieved by different means. No magic acorns or slumbering under trees. He sold his soul on the dotted line, joined an exclusive members’ club. Eternal life. But not eternal

you will find that every one, even the best of us, at times, is apt to act very queerly and unaccountably; indeed some things we do, we can not entirely explain the reason of, even to ourselves, little Pierre.

The whole town was ripe with salt and haunted by the action of the tides. At night it filled with boisterous drunk men.

For supernatural as the feeling was, and appealing to all things ultramontane to his soul; yet was it a delicious sadness to him.

And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)