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He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. " "You'd better," replied Quilt. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick.
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