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Society's the mother of convention.
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All through the nineties I met people. Crowds of people. Met and met and met, until it seemed that people were born and hastily grew up, just to be met.
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I don't care very much for literary shrines and hauntsI knew a woman in London who boasted that she had lodgings from the windows of which she could throw a stone into Carlyle's yard. And when I said, "Why throw a stone into Carlyle's yard?" she looked at me as if I were an imbecile and changed the subject.
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It is the interest one takes in books that makes a library. And if a library have interest it is; if not, it isn't.
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In December people give no thought to the Past or the Future. They thing only of the Present.