But gratitude can be the very devil sometimes, particularly if you have to be grateful for services you’d rather be without.
Bereavement is like a serious illness. One dies or one survives, and the medicine is time, not a change of scene.
Before he turned again the to the car his eye was caught by a small clump of unknown flowers. The pale pinkish white heads rose from a mossy pad on top of the wall and trembled delicately in the light...
«No hay un arte que descubra en un rostro la construcción de un alma. Fue un caballero en quien depositamos la más absoluta confianza.»
Impresionante
They also accused her of being sardonic, and although there was uncertainty about the meaning of the word, they knew that it was not a desirable quality in a woman, being one which gentlemen particula...
The equally is a political theory, but no a practical politics.
The cultured cop! I thought they were peculiar to detective novels.
That once I was not and that now I am. That one day I shall no longer be.
Sale
Right and wrong stood for him as immutable as the two poles. He had never wandered in that twilight country where the nuances of evil and good cast their perplexing shadows.
Perfect fear casteth out love, thought Gabriel. The aphorism pleased him.
On the whole I’m glad; you can’t mourn for unborn grandchildren when there never was a hope of them. This planet is doomed anyway. Eventually the sun will explode or cool and one small insignificant p...
Murder changes everything.
Mrs. Maxie wondered whether anyone could be as stupid as Sir Reynold appeared to be
Man is diminished if he lives without knowledge of his past; without hope of a future he becomes a beast.
Love. Is that so very important? You were a teacher, you ought to know. Is it? It’s vital. If a child has it for the first ten years, hardly anything else matters. If he hasn’t, then nothing does.
Like all religious evangelists, she realizes that there is little satisfaction in the contemplation of heaven for oneself if one cannot simultaneously contemplate the horrors of hell for others.
It was easy to understand how the local legends had grown that sometimes, on an autumn night, once could hear the muffled beat of horses' hoofs as smugglers brought their kegs and bales from Sizewell...
In a word all the things of the body are as a river, and the things of the soul as a dream and a vapour; and life is a warfare and a pilgrim’s sojourn, and fame after death is only forgetfulness.