Watt had watched people smile and thought he understood how it was done.
To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.
I gave up before birth.
But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.
Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.