“More and more clearly as the scones disappeared into his interior he saw that what the sensible man wanted was a wife and a home with scones like these always at his diposal.”

“Despite his title, the Secretary of the Interior was a shallow man. He was given to surfaces, not depths; to cortex, not medulla; to the puff, not the cream. He didn't understand the interior of anything: not the interior of a tenor sax solo, a painting or a poem; not the interior of an atom, a planet, a spider or his wife's body; not the interior, least of all, of his own heart and head.”

“Have you at any time been detained in a mental home or similar institution? If so, give particulars.''I was at Scone College, Oxford, for two years,' said Paul.”

“What's going on?" I sat down on the bed and finished the last of the scone."Bad things," she said mischievously. "You'll approve.”

“The soul is no traveller; the wise man stays at home, and when his necessities, his duties, on any occasion call him from his house, or into foreign lands, he is at home still, and shall make men sensible by the expression of his countenance, that he goes the missionary of wisdom and virtue, and visits cities and men like a sovereign, and not like an interloper or a valet.”

“Mr. Lightwood," she said, raising herself up on her elbows. "Are those scones under your bed?”