'Tis not a thing to shout to the tree-tops.

I might have to recite ten Paternosters, if I let thee tempt me so to do.

For whispering it in thine ear, I should but say one; for having remarked it, none at all.

Facts are facts; and, even in the case of so weighty a fact, the responsibility rests not upon the beholder." Mary Antony leaned over the parapet, looking upward.

The afternoon sunlight fell full upon the russet parchment of her kind old face, shewing the web of wrinkles spun by ninety years of the gently turning wheel of time.
But the robin, perched upon the bough, trilled and sang, unmoved.