At the gate of the garden, beside the lingham post which stood there in eternal erection, sat a boy who was diverting himself by whittling, with a small green-handled knife, a bit of cedar-wood into the quaint shaping which the post had. His hair was darkly red: and now, as he regarded Alfgar with brown and wide-set eyes, the face of this boy was humorously grave, and he nodded now, as the complacent artist nods who looks upon his advancing work and finds all to be near his wishes.
--
Ch. 13 : What a Boy ThoughtJames Branch Cabell
» James Branch Cabell - all quotes »
Put simply, the church finds itself in a post-Christendom era, and it had better do some serious reflection or face increasing decline and eventual irrelevance.
Alan Hirsch
Why was his hair tinted with gold? An evil omen was golden hair in my life. Why had not the brown of his eyes crushed out and killed the blue? — for brown were his father’s eyes, and his father’s father’s. And thus in the Land of the Color-line I saw, as it fell across my baby, the shadow of the Veil.
W. E. B. DuBois
When this wizard stepped down from his post, crossed his moat, and opened his garden gate, nothing could be more attractive than the vistas and plantations he opened to our view. ... Few men could suggest more while saying so little, or stimulate so much while communicating next to nothing that was tangible and comprehensible. The young man that would learn the true meaning of apprehension as distinct from comprehension, should have heard the professor lecture...
Benjamin Peirce
What the Hell is Wrong with the Washington Post? Another unrepentant, genocidal terrorist is given op-ed column space in the Washington Post... The Washington Post has truly hit bottom now. They owe the United States an apology for publishing this disgusting terrorist propaganda...
Charles Foster Johnson
A woman in white stood atop the rubble a short distance away, a massive halo of power surrounding her, her arm outstretched toward the fleeing soldiers, her eyes intense. The woman stood like vengeance itself, the power of saidar like a storm around her. The very air seemed alight, and her brown hair blew from the wind of the open gap in the wall beside them. Egwene al'Vere.
Robert Jordan
Cabell, James Branch
Cabibbo, Nicola
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