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— Plutarch"Books delight to the very marrow of one's bones. They speak to us, consult with us, and join with us in a living and intense intimacy."
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Where the shadow of the bridge fell I could see down for a long way, but not as far as the bottom. When you leave a leaf in water a long time after awhile the tissue will be gone and the delicate fibres waving slow as the motion of sleep. They don't touch one another, no matter how knotted up they once were, no matter how close they lay once to the bones.
— William Faulkner
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No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul.
— George R. R. Martin
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