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The sky was clear - remarkably clear - and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.

Thomas Hardy

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Thomas Hardy
Age: 87 †
Born: 1840
Born: June 2
Died: 1928
Died: January 28
Novelist
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Dorchester
Dorset
Seemed
Sky
Stars
Clear
Throbs
Common
Timed
Body
Twinkling
Remarkably
Pulse

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I have felt lately, more and more, that my present way of living is bad in every respect.
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He wished she knew his impressions but he would as soon have thought of carrying an odour in a net as of attempting to convey the intangibilities of his feeling in the coarse meshes of language. So he remained silent.
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That aspects are within us and who seems Most kingly is the King.
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It was then that the ecstasy and the dream began, in which emotion was the matter of the universe, and matter but an adventitious intrusion likely to hinder you from spinning where you wanted to spin.
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Let truth be told - women do as a rule live through such humiliations, and regain their spirits, and again look about them with an interested eye. While there's life there's hope is a connviction not so entirely unknown to the betrayed as some amiable theorists would have us believe.
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If the story-tellers could ha' got decency and good morals from true stories, who'd have troubled to invent parables?
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Well, these sad and hopeless obstacles are welcome in one sense, for they enable us to look with indifference upon the cruel satires that Fate loves to indulge in.
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If an offense come out of the truth, better is it that the offense come than that the truth be concealed.
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And yet to every bad there is a worse.
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They spoke very little of their mutual feeling pretty phrases and warm expressions being probably unnecessary between such tried friends.
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She was but a transient impression, half forgotten.
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We ought to have lived in mental communion, and no more.
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There are accents in the eye which are not on the tongue, and more tales come from pale lips than can enter an ear. It is both the grandeur and the pain of the remoter moods that they avoid the pathway of sound.
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She was at that modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called having a fancy for. It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest will.
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It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.
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So do flux and reflux--the rhythm of change--alternate and persist in everything under the sky.
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A blaze of love and extinction, was better than a lantern glimmer of the same which should last long years.
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It was still early, and the sun's lower limb was just free of the hill, his rays, ungenial and peering, addressed the eye rather than the touch as yet.
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Once let a maiden admit the possibility of her being stricken with love for some one at a certain hour and place, and the thing is as good as done.
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