Oh$$$ he's an old friend from the West$$$ said Eden easily. "I wont introduce you$$$ because he doesn't like people. He's a recluse. Good-bye."

He used to say that he never felt the hardness of the human struggle or the sadness of history as he felt it among those ruins. He used to say$$$ too$$$ that it made one feel an obligation to do one's best.

Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.

It was to him a very strange and perplexing place$$$ where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts.

It's by understanding me$$$ and the boys$$$ and mother$$$ that you have helped me. I expect that is the only way one person ever really can help another.

I do not see you as you really are$$$ Joseph; I see you through my affection for you.

There was a new kind of strength in the gravity of her face$$$ and her colors still gave her that look of deep-seated health and ardor.

A warrior takes his lot$$$ whatever it may be$$$ and accepts it in ultimate humbleness. He accepts in humbleness what he is$$$ not as a grounds for regret but as a living challenge.

It is possible to be a great novelist - that is$$$ to render a veracious account of your times - and a bad writer - that is$$$ an incompetent practitioner of applied linguistics.

The enchantment of that bright$$$ sad$$$ pretty place enveloped her and she found that$$$ against all her expectations$$$ she was happy there.