Isn't it pretty to think so.

There are worse places to be than on your own.

No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.

If every one said orders were impossible to carry out when they were received where would you be? Where would we all be if you just said, "Impossible," when orders came?

Everything that a painter did or that a writer wrote was a part of his training and preparation for what he was to do.

But perhaps he had enough animal strength and detached intelligence that he could make another start.

He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.