To a young heart everything is fun.
At the great iron gate of the churchyard he stopped and looked in. He looked up at the high tower spectrally resisting the wind, and he looked round at the white tombstones, like enough to the dead in their winding-sheets, and he counted the nine tolls of the clock-bell.
It is the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with manner.
Discipline must be maintained.
The ocean asks for nothing but those who stand by her shores gradually attune themselves to her rhythm.