And yet at times my spirit was too strong for me, and I gave vent to dangerous utterances.
My brother is one of the best of Squares, just, sensible, cheerful, and not without fraternal affection; yet I confess that my weekly interviews, at least in one respect, cause me the bitterest pain.
In battle, there are not more than two methods of attack--the direct and the indirect; yet these two in combination give rise to an endless series of maneuvers.
Amid the turmoil and tumult of battle, there may be seeming disorder and yet no real disorder at all; amid confusion and chaos, your array may be without head or tail, yet it will be proof against defeat.
But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food, and after an hour's rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly irksome to me, I continued my route.
When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the daemon, allow me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live?
Yes, a poor thing, Umslopogaas, yet these are the burdens that men must bear.
The night was dark and I could see none about, and could hear no one move, yet, being cautious, I walked round the hut.
the Lady Maude Loring was no easy pupil to handle.
Said Peter 'Though I cannot sound The depths of such a man as you, Yet
in your character I've found An inconsistency or two.
let me say also this: that from the first I have been consistent in having an intense aversion to any trial of my acts and thoughts by a moral standard.
, in saying this, I do but indirectly burnish a little brighter the noble merit of the poem and the poet.
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, Th' associates and copartners of our loss Lye thus astonisht on th' oblivious Pool, And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy Mansion, or once more With rallied Arms to try what may be yet
Regaind in Heav'n, or what more lost in Hell?
The colours were the colours familiar to me, and yet
they were different.
I climbed the barren mountain, And my gaze swept far and wide For the red-lit eaves of my father's home, And I fancied that he sighed: My son has gone for a soldier, For a soldier night and day; But my son is wise, and may yet
return, When the drums have died away.