#barometer rising

It was a strange characteristic Murray had often observed in Americans, that nothing ever excited them quite so much as the repairing of a disaster, provided it were big enough.

Even though his world was composed now of nothing but chance, it was unreasonable to believe that a series of accidents should ultimately matter.

This day was at the zenith of the season; it should have been the longest day of the year. Yet they seemed unable to hoard it for themselves, and because they could not decide what to do and were afraid to confess what they wanted to do, they wasted the daylight with aimless walking.

Its is also remarkable how many times "TOLD YOU" is written in my notes about Barometer Rising.

He thought now that a man could only know the meaning of peace when he no longer reached after the torment of hope.

Even though his world was composed now of nothing but chance, it was unreasonable to believe that a series of accidents should ultimately matter. One chance must lead to another with no binding link but a peculiar tenacity which made him determined to preserve himself for a future which gave no promise of being superior to the past. It was his future, and that was all he could say of it. At the moment it was all he had.