this second, violent world gushed out fragrantly everywhere, except in our rooms, where Mother and Father were. And that was very good. It was wonderful that here among us there was peace, order, and repose, duty and a clear conscience, forgiveness and love—and wonderful that all the rest existed, all those noisy, glaring, somber, and violent things, which nevertheless could be escaped with a single bound toward one’s mother. Demian

If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all. The Decay of Lying

We do not look in great cities for our best morality. Mansfield Park

“Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; / Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?” Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam