Like a dead man, only friction could make him warm or violence make him mobile.
Let him ride a horse. He's a cowboy ain't he?
Only those who still have hope can benefit from tears.
He felt as though his heart were a bomb, a complicated bomb that would result in a simple explosion, wrecking the world without rocking it.
Every child, everywhere; in the whole world there was not one child who was not gravely, sweetly dancing.
But whether he was happy or not was hard to say. Probably he was neither, just as a plant is neither.