Redheaded women buck like goats.
All fiction is autobiographical fantasy.
Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.
Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.
The pleasures of love lasts but a fleeting but the pledges of life outlusts a lieftime.
Under cover of her silence he pressed her arm closely to his side; and, as they stood at the hotel door, he felt that they had escaped from their lives and duties, escaped from home and friends and run away together with wild and radiant hearts to a new adventure.