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He had a cheerful dinner, and after dinner he didn’t write anything, no documents, but just lay sybaritically on the bed until it got dark.

all of this convinced him that he had come to that revolting refuge where pitiful debauchery has made its home base, debauchery engendered by the meretricious civilization and terrible overpopulation of the capital city

Perhaps she wouldn’t have inspired such panicked horror if she had been a bit uglier. But there was nothing dim, turbid, or dead in her features.

The leading article was entitled “Modern Painting”: a dithyrambic panegyric of four or five young painters

To feel out of his sphere, retired from life, like a super-annuated functionary whose career is finished: What intolerable torture.