and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

I will not say nothing. I will defend my church and my religion when it is insulted and spit on.

My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.

He passes, struck by the stare of truculent Wellington but in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.

He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.

What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.

Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand.