To Anthony life was a struggle against death, that waited at every corner. It was as a concession to his hypochondriacal imagination that he formed the habit of reading in bed-it soothed him. He read until he was tired and often fell asleep with the lights still on.

As you first see him he wonders frequently whether he is not without honor and slightly mad, a shameful and obscene thinness glistening on the surface of the w…

Curiously enough he found in senior year that he had acquired a position in his class. He learned that he was looked upon as a rather romantic figure, a schola…

In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at least, descended …

Routine is the death to heroism.

I'm not scared of dying And I, don't really care If it' s peace you find in dying Well then, let the time be near.

I have no fear nor shrinking; I have seen death so often that it is not strange or fearful to me.