[…] I'm floundering at sloppy deliberation in the choice of every new word, and thus damned up in my soul is left to rot. The limit of my foremind to tap and drain onto paper any flow from my residue of self-saturated thoughts is usually half a page at any one sitting.

By my feythe sayd syre launcelot in that pauelione wil I lodge alle this nyghte / and soo there he alyghte doune and tayed his hors to the pauelione / and there he vnarmed hym / and there he fond a bedde / and layd hym theryn / and felle on slepe sadly

Page by page the booklike maps show country lanes, farmhouses and churches with arrows indicating the correct route.

[…] acquiring an understanding of its leading principles, so as to be able to give them forth discriminatively in language of his own […]