"True" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... fine conclusion, he led me down a little sloping alley, scarcely wide enough for a wheelbarrow, to an old black door, where we set down our parcels; for he had taken his, while I carried mine, and not knowing what might happen yet, like a true peace-maker I stuck to the sheaf of umbrellas and the rattan cane. And thankful I was, and so might be the cabman, to have that weapon ...
— Erema - My Father's Sin • R. D. Blackmore
... impossible to guess from their demeanour that, etc., etc.—and this experience of the first celebrity with whom she had ever spoken (except Musa, who was somehow only Musa) confirmed the statement, and confirmed also her young instinctive belief that what is printed must be true. She was beginning to feel the stealthy on-comings of fatigue, and certainly she was very nervous, but Monsieur Dauphin's quite particularly sympathetic manner, and her own sudden determination not to be a little blushing ...
— The Lion's Share • E. Arnold Bennett
... not a prejudiced man, the presence of the two evil-smelling monks annoyed me extremely. I thought the obstinate way in which they stayed little less than an insult. True they were men like myself, in spite of their goats' beards and dirty frocks, and consequently were liable to the same desires as I; but for all that I found them wholly intolerable. I could not shame them without shaming the lady, and they knew it; monks ...
— The Memoires of Casanova, Complete • Jacques Casanova de Seingalt
... knew that the Queen was his mother; yet was he sore perplexed, for the god had given him as a son to King Xuthus, nor did he doubt but that the god ever speaketh that which is true. Then he said that he would himself inquire of Apollo. But as he turned to go, lo! a great brightness in the air, and the shape as of one of the dwellers in heaven. And when he was afraid, and would have fled with the Queen, there came a voice, saying, "Flee not, for I am a friend and not ...
— Stories from the Greek Tragedians • Alfred Church
... was helping! Women who were all, once, little things like this one sleeping there! 'I must give her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to think of them!' They had never borne reflecting on, those poor outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of true refinement hidden under layers of conformity to the sense of property—wounding too grievously the deepest thing in him—a love of beauty which could give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the ...
— Forsyte Saga • John Galsworthy
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