Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.

Love me. Love my umbrella.

He lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side-glances. He had an odd autobiographical habit which led him to compose in his mind from time to time a short sentence about himself containing a subject in the third person and a verb in the past tense.

I have left my book, I have left my room, For I heard you singing Through the gloom.

Moments of their secret life together burst like stars upon his memory.

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.