I saw a Deane of S. Hillarie of Poictiers, reduced by reason and the incommoditie of his melancholy to such a continuall solitarinesse, that when I entered into his chamber he had never removed one step out of it in two and twenty yeares before[…].

In the front paddock a wedge-tailed eagle was skimming down the line of the fence-posts.

He could think of her being there, without a lurking misgiving that it would have been better if she had not come.

The nationalities issue is deeply disturbed and the deterioration is deepening […] There is an irrational and passion-ridden atmosphere.