We easily pronounce puissance, truth and justice; they be words importing some great matter, but that thing we neither see nor conceive.

Gee up, Dobbin, Gee ho, Dobbin, Gee up, Dobbin, Gee up, and gee ho - o - o!

Kazin, by contrast, was God-haunted (“I want my God back” is the next-to-last sentence of his 1978 memoir, “New York Jew”); unquenchably fascinated by American literature and American history; and politically radical, but in a fashion that owed less to Marx than to Whitman — Kazin’s radicalism was democratic, generous, angry and thoroughly in the American grain.

The sea was shining like a sheet of glass, […] and the bright sea-weeds and the brilliant corals shone in the depths of that pellucid water, as we rowed over it, like rare and precious gems.