It may be that we exist and cease to exist in alternations, like the minute dots in some forms of toned printing or the succession of pictures on a cinema film. It may be that reality is an illusion of movement in an eternal, static, multidimensional universe. We may be only a story written on the ground of the inconceivable; the pattern on a rug beneath the feet of the incomprehensible.

The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.

Go away. I'm all right. [last words]

If anything is possible, then nothing is interesting

An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.

The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives - all that was over.

This little upset across the water doesn't mean anything. Threatened men live long and threatened wars never occur.