The clerisy are those who read for pleasure, but not for idleness; who read for pastime but not to kill time; who love books, but do not live by book… - Robertson Davies

My position was a common one; I wanted to do the right thing but could not help regretting the damnable expense.

I am sure that I would not make a good taxidermist; the temptation to improve upon nature would certainly be too strong for me. Think how easy it would be, when stuffing somebody's pet terrier, to slip a couple of human glass eyes into a sockets, instead of the usual buttons. Then the owner would really be justified in saying that his pet looked almost human. If I were stuffing this two-headed calf, for instance, I could not resist making one head smile and the other one frown, so that they looked like masks of Comedy and Tragedy.

"You played it with great seriousness. And it is not such an uncommon game. Do you know Ibsen's poem — <blockquote>
To live it to do battle with trolls
in the vaults of the heart and brain.
To write: that is to sit
in judgement over one's self."
</blockquote>