There was in those eyes that kind of mellow light that makes you grip your heart-secrets convulsively lest you give way to the impulse of spreading them all out at once for the knower of men to read and unravel. And that impulse lasted as long as I remained in the house—not that I felt as if it mattered whether I told or not, but that all my conventional reserve was sent flying by a sense of never before having meet with so much real tolerance of all human things. — Edwin Bjorkman on William James.Bjorkman:
About Prof. James everything is genuine. Add to this that everywhere, at every time, and to eveybody he is the same, and you can imagine the rareness of the man.