On, on, good horse! The lonely shepherd on the plains, sleepily watching his feeding sheep, looked up as Sam went speeding by, and thought how fine a thing it would be to be dressed like that, and have nothing to do but to ride bloodhorses to death.

Mind your sheep, good shepherd; perhaps it were better for you to do that and nothing more all your life, than to carry in your breast for one short hour such a volcano of rage, indignation, and terror, as he does who hurries unheeding through your scattered flock.
Here are a brace of good pistols, and they, with care, shall give account, if need be, of two men.

After that, nothing.

It were better, so much better, not to live if one were only ten minutes too late.

The Doctor would be up soon; not much matter if he were, though, only another life gone.
The Organ hill, a cloud of misty blue when he started, now hung in aerial fluted cliffs above his head.