This library is built in the open.
If you spot an error, have a suggestion, or just want to say hello — we’d love to hear from you.

After returning home, he gave all the time that was left to study. Very often after lunch—with him a light and easily digested meal, as was the fashion in old days—in the summer, if he had no engagements, he used to lie in the sun and have a book read to him, from which he made notes and extracts. He read nothing without making extracts from it; indeed, he used to say that no book is so bad but that some part of it has value. After this rest in the sun, he usually took a cold bath, a snack of food, and a very short nap. Then he put in what was virtually a second day's work, continuing his studies until dinner. Over his dinner, a book was read aloud to him and notes were made, and at a rapid pace. I remember that one of his friends, when the reader had performed a passage badly, called him back and had it repeated; but my uncle said to him, “Surely you caught the sense?” And on his nodding assent, he continued, “Then what did you call him back for? This interruption of yours has cost us ten more lines!” Such was his economy of time. He used to leave the dinner table before sunset in summer and less than an hour after it in winter—this rule had with him the force of law. These were his habits when in the thick of his engagements and amid the turmoil of town. In vacation, only the time of the bath was exempted from study; and when I say the bath, I mean the more central portions of that ritual, for while he was being shampooed and rubbed down, he used to have something read to him or dictate. On a journey, he seemed to discard all other interests and used the opportunity for study only: he had a secretary at his elbow with book and tablets, his hands in...