No iron spike can pierce a human heart as icily as a period in the right place.
No iron can pierce the human heart as chillingly as a full stop placed at the right time.
If the world could write by itself, it would write like Tolstoy.
A phrase is born into the world both good and bad at the same time. The secret lies in a slight, an almost invisible twist. The lever should rest in your hand, getting warm, and you can only turn it once, not twice.
No iron can stab the heart with such force as a period put just at the right place.
For me the whole world is like a gigantic theater in which I am the only spectator without opera glasses. The orchestra plays the prelude to the third act, the stage is far away as in a dream, my heart swells with delight—and you want to blind me with a pair of half-ruble spectacles?