Did you ever see so many pee-wee hats, carl?" "they're beanies." "they call them pee-wees in brooklyn." "but i'm not in brooklyn." "but you're still a brooklynite." "i wouldn't want that to get around, annie." "you don't mean that, carl." "ah, we might as well call them beanies, annie." "why?" "when in rome do as the romans do." "do they call them beanies in rome?" she asked artlessly. "this is the silliest conversation.
What is there in rome for me to see that others have not seen before me? What is there for me to touch that others have not touched? What is there for me to feel, to learn, to hear, to know, that shall thrill me before it pass to others? What can i discover?--nothing. Nothing whatsoever. One charm of travel dies here.
Therefore i tell my sorrows to the stones; who, though they cannot answer my distress, yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes, for that they will not intercept my tale: when i do weep, they humbly at my feet receive my tears and seem to weep with me; and, were they but attired in grave weeds, rome could afford no tribune like to these.