His lips tightened and he said: “O God, I am dying myself, and there is not a living being whom I can crawl up to, and lay my head on its breast and know it loves and pities me, as I love you, old friend.”
— from The Bishop of Cottontown: A Story of the Southern Cotton Mills by John Trotwood Moore
There is no florid rhetoric; there is little self-glorification; no unnecessary dwelling on the details of martyrdom; and there is not a line to give suspicion "that one of this loyal band flinched or hesitated."
— from The French in the Heart of America by John H. (John Huston) Finley
|