There rise her timeless capitals of empires daily born, whose plinths are laid at midnight and whose streets are packed at morn; and here come tired youths and maids that feign to love or sin in tones like rusty razor blades to tunes like smitten tin.
Rudyard KiplingOne learns more from a good scholar in a rage than from a score of lucid and laborious drudges.
Rudyard KiplingA thin grey fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England.
Rudyard KiplingThere are few things sweeter in this world than the guileless, hotheaded, intemperate, open admiration of a junior. Even a woman in her blindest devotion does not fall into the gait of the man she adores, tilt her bonnet to the angle at which he wears his hat, or interlard her speech with his pet oaths.
Rudyard Kipling