Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place, and mused in the sight of men. Mr. Cruncher, sitting on a stool in a public place but not being a poet, mused as little as possible, and looked about him.
“I have never looked down on any traveller, although I have pitied many and disliked a few; I wish them happier journeys to death than mine, for, after all, their happiness cannot diminish what belongs to me.”