Cigars were for talk; pipes for reflection. - Michael F. Flynn

He could not live again in Paris. It had seemed better then only because he had been younger, and had not yet known contentment.

You have a grim taste in miracles, my friend.

There seemed no face within the cowl, only a black emptiness, and the notion sprang irresistibly to Dietrich’s mind that this was Death, now these dozen years overdue, treading a weary mountain trail in search of him. Then a flash of white showed within the shadow and Dietrich realized that it was only the angle of the sun that had made that hood seem so empty.