Note: All of the inline images in these documents have been kept to a size much smaller than the one below (however, some of the .HTML files can be 40k or more in size.)
``It must be remembered that in Mark's mind hardly one rag of noble thought, either Christian or Pagan, had a secure lodging. His education had been neither scientific nor classical -- merely "Modern". The severities both of abstraction and of high human tradition had passed him by: and he had neither peasant shrewdness nor aristocratic honour to help him. He was a man of straw, a glib examinee in subjects that require no exact knowledge (he had always done well on Essays and General Papers) and the first hint of a real threat to his bodily life knocked him sprawling.''
-- That Hideous Strength, C. S. Lewis
``And now my letter will not be worth your reading, for there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four lines passionnées from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for Henry is in Norfolk''
-- Mary Crawford, in Jane Austen's Mansfield Park
``Even when he is happy, he looks like a minor figure in one of those Russian novels where someone is found hanged in the orchard around about page 632, and the serfs are knouted every couple of chapters.''
-- New York Times October 16th, 1992
``He had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow; his eyes and gathered eyebrows looked ireful and thwarted just now; he was past youth, but had not reached middle-age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him, and but little shyness. Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked. I had hardly ever seen a handsome youth; never in my life spoken to one. I had a theoretical reverence and homage for beauty, elegance, gallantry, fascination; but had I met those qualities incarnate in masculine shape, I should have known instinctively that they neither had nor could have sympathy with anything in me, and should have shunned them as one would fire, lightning, or anything else that is bright but antipathetic.''
-- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (1847), Chapter 12 [Jane Eyre's first meeting with Mr. Rochester].
``These, however, I feel well enough are the transcendentalisms of a retired wretch, so you must speak frankly.''
-- Charlotte Brontë, letter of October 30th, 1852