Adele Gleason in Lapham’s Quarterly:
1910: Lahore
As I knew him in the many summers he lived on estates joining ours in Elmira, N.Y., U.S.A., his wife’s birth place; the wonder of Mark Twain’s real personality increased. He reminded one of one of the many definitions of genius, a constant capacity for growth. The reproach of age is that it is “stale, flat and unprofitable.” Mr. Clemens’ age was always youthful, not in the way of amusement or of seeking amusement, for he seemed never to require them in an artificial sense. He found amusement and intense interest in everyday things about us, and in every-day people which those very people themselves were incapable of finding. I said once.
“Mr. Clemens, you have been guest of Emperors and Princes and Presidents and Magnates and Artists and—
“Yes,” he broke in with a quizzical smile “and of boarding house keepers!” “And” I resumed, “what is the best, the very best time you ever had or have, in your life?”
“The best time I ever had or can have is when I feel a new idea, one I have never had before, coming into my mind. Then I want to share it with other people.”
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