The wind came round him like the stuff of thought unshaped, and every breath he drew seemed like God breathing afresh into his nostrils the breath of life.

Who knows what the thing we call air is?
We know about it, but it we do not know.

The sun shone as if smiling at the self-importance of the sulky darkness he had driven away, and the world seemed content with a heavenly content.

So fresh was Donal's sense that he felt as if his sleep within and the wind without had been washing him all the night.

So peaceful, so blissful was his heart that it longed to share its bliss; but there was no one within sight, and he set out again on his journey.
He had not gone far when he came to a dip in the moorland--a round hollow, with a cottage of turf in the middle of it, from whose chimney came a little smoke: there too the day was begun! He was glad he had not seen it before, for then he might have missed the repose of the open night.