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I will trust you and hope in you till my last hour, come what may. Farewell, my dearest girl, with fond love from This letter cost Elizabeth many a tear. She sat over it in the evenings before she went to bed, and felt so poignantly that it was she who had brought him to this that he could not trust her; for she understood but too well what lay between the lines.
There you have compactly and poignantly expressed a mood which is common to all men who have any feeling for the past. It is a pathetic, almost a tragic mood, a longing more pitiable than that of any fanatic for any paradise, any lover for any woman, because it is quite impossible that it should ever be satisfied.
"Look at 'im, a'eatin' of 'em. Lor! give a thought to yer ruddy comrades, can't yer?" They seemed to miss tobacco more poignantly than any other luxury. A little later, sounds of great artillery bombardments rose up in front of them and on each side, but they could not yet see any signs of a fight, as they had not yet reached the edge of the plateau.
Yet it was in thy power to be mother of a king. Said she, leaning her head on his breast, 'Every woman that beareth a child is mother of a king; but not every woman's child hath a king to his father. Thus it is with me, Richard, who am doubly blessed. 'Ah, God! he cried, poignantly concerned, 'Ah God, Jehane, see what trammels I have enmeshed us in, thee in one net and me in another!
Beautiful words always affected her poignantly, but the language of the Bible more poignantly than any other, because her own unforgettable injury had been derived from it and sanctioned by it, and because at the base of things our enemies in this world are dearer to us than friends. They cling closer. Yet, and paradox though it be the Bible was the more alive to her because, on Mr.
Should a conflict of wills not merely exist but break out into expression in war, internationalism, though outwardly so powerful, must inevitably go by the board and the ancient foundations upon which Europe rests stand poignantly revealed. Such a conflict of wills Mr. Belloc has always seen to exist between Prussia and the rest of the nations of Europe.
This feeling always moved Siegmund's pity to its deepest, leaving him poignantly helpless. This same foreignness, revealed in other ways, sometimes made him hate her. It was as if she would sacrifice him rather than renounce her foreign birth. There was something in her he could never understand, so that never, never could he say he was master of her as she was of him the mistress.
A smile that someway affected Van most poignantly, he knew not why, came for a moment to her lips. "You didn't expect to see me here," she said. "I had to come to see if it was so." "What is it, Queenie? What do you mean? What do you want?" he answered. "What's the trouble?" "Nothing," she said. "I don't want nothing I can git I guess unless Oh, is it her, Van? Is it sure all over with me?"
"A sin, my child, for which should be due sorrow." The girl smiled sadly. She felt poignantly how little he could help her. "And if the man were a Catholic and a Frenchman?" she said. "A papist and a Frenchman!" he cried, lifting up his hands. "My daughter, you ever were too playful. You speak of things impossible. I pray you listen."
Carley had poignantly felt the sadness of the one, the promise of the other. As one by one the siren factory whistles opened up with deep, hoarse bellow, the clamor of the street and the ringing of the bells were lost in a volume of continuous sound that swelled on high into a magnificent roar. It was the voice of a city of a nation.
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