Look Homeward, Angel: A Story of the Buried Life - by Thomas Wolfe

He was the breaker of visions; the proposer of iniquities.

Eugene's face was of no use to him as a mask: it was a dark pool in which every pebble of thought and feeling left its circle--his shame, his distaste for his employment was obvious, although he tried to conceal it: he was accused of false pride, told that he was "afraid of a little honest work," and reminded of the rich benefits he had received from his big-hearted parents.

This starched and well brushed world of Sunday morning Presbyterianism, with its sober decency, its sense of restraint, its suggestion of quiet wealth, solid position, ordered ritual, seclusive establishment, moved him deeply with its tranquillity.

The Gants, after initial surprise, moulded new events very quickly into the texture of their lives. Abysmal change widened their souls out in a brooding unconsciousness.

"Why do you wear the big hat?" asked Eugene. "Psychology," he said. "It makes 'em talk." "I tell you what!" said Eliza, beginning to laugh. "That's pretty smart, isn't it?" "Sure!" said Luke. "That's advertising! It pays to advertise!" "Yes," said Mr. Barton slowly, "you've got to get the other fellow's psychology." The phrase seemed to describe an action of modified assault and restrained pillage.