He who steps on stones is glad to feel the smallest spray of moss beneath his feet.
The hand will often reveal more than the countenance.
The very shadows seem to listen.
faces deceive, and the loveliness of youth is not like the loveliness of age - an absolute mirror of the soul within.
The finger of suspicion never forgets the way it has once pointed.
Do we fear suffering or apathy most? Is it from experience or the monotony of a commonplace existence that we quickest flee?