Irritation for some men was their response to strain.
One didn't stop to talk with creatures from one's nightmares.
The deeds of men, as footprints in the desert. Nothing under the circling moons is fated to last. Even the sun goes down.
It was different, though, knowing something in your thoughts and then hearing it confirmed, made real, planted in the world like a tree
A hand fought best when it made a fist.
When I was 18 years old, in a more innocent time, my first backpacking trip through Europe, I sneaked into the Temple of Saturn in the Roman Forum after nightfall and spent several hours in there avoiding the guards patrolling.