Perhaps loneliness had nothing to do with place or circumstance; perhaps it was in you; yourself. Perhaps, wherever you were, you took your little circle of loneliness with you.

But I have noticed this about ambitious men, or men in power, that they fear even the slightest and least likely threat to it.

...the floss-silk manes tossed up like the crest of a breaking wave....Light ran and glittered on them. They were obedient...you would have sworn...as the white horses of the wave crests are to pull of the moon.

There are few men more superstitious than soldiers. They are, after all, the men who live closest to death.

The mills of God work like lightning compared with the law.

The sense of smell is the hair-trigger of memory.

It does not do to neglect the gods of a place, whoever they may be. In the end, they are all one.