Beware the horns of a bull, the heels of the horse, and the smile of an Englishman.
Fall if you will, but rise you must.
Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.
Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.
If there is any difficulty in what I write, it is because of the material I use. The thought is always simple.
His heart danced upon her movements like a cork upon a tide. He heard what her eyes said to him from beneath their cowl and knew that in some dim past, whether in life or revery, he had heard their tale before.