‘I have seen something of this world,’ she said over the crowded trays, ‘and there are but two sorts of women in it — those who take the strength out of a man and those who put it back.’

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My brother kneels (so saith Kabir)
To stone and brass in heathen-wise,
But in my brother’s voice I hear
My own unanswered agonies.
His God is as his Fates assign —
His prayer is all the world’s — and mine.

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…of singular, though unwashen, beauty.

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…she paid Kim compliments that would have flung European audiences into unclean dismay.

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Like most grossly superstitious folk, the Kamboh could not keep his tongue from deriding his Church.

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A very few white people, but many Asiatics, can throw themselves into a mazement as it were by repeating their own names over and over again to themselves, letting the mind go free upon speculation as to what is called personal identity. When one grows older, the power, usually, departs, but while it lasts it […]

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It is an awful thing still to dread the magic that you contemptuously investigate — to collect folk-lore for the Royal Society with a lively belief in all powers of darkness.

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Change of scene, service, and surroundings were the breath of his little nostrils

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…he beamed with delight. Here was a man after his own heart — a tortuous and indirect person playing a hidden game.

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The old lady is, after all, intensely human, and lives to look upon life.

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