For who would sorcel a voice an hundred leagues in the twinkling of an eye would sorcel indeed.

Farmers knew that dead fish made plants go better. They could care less about why that happened. Scientists could not sleep until they found out why.

He stood transfixed before the unaccustomed view of London at night time, a vast panorama which reminded him […] of some wood engravings far off and magical, in a printshop in his childhood. They dated from the previous century and were coarsely printed on tinted paper, with tinsel outlining the design.

No one else can define these points for a young man, not his Major – present or not present – or his Majoress, not his friends nor his job nor his education or lack thereof.