The orange sky is rolling across the sky like a severed head, gentle light glimmers in the ravines among the clouds, the banners of the sunset are fluttering above our heads. The stench of yesterday’s blood and slaughtered horses drips into the evening chill.

No iron can stab the heart with such force as a period put just at the right place.

If the world could write by itself, it would write like Tolstoy.

When a phrase is born, it is both good and bad at the same time. The secret of its success rests in a crux that is barely discernible. One's fingertips must grasp the key, gently warming it. And then the key must be turned once, not twice.

There is no iron that can enter the human heart with such stupefying effect, as a period placed at just the right moment.

No iron can pierce the human heart as chillingly as a full stop placed at the right time.

No iron spike can pierce a human heart as icily as a period in the right place.