She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness.

With a secret smile, not unlike that of a healthy child,he walked along, peacefully, quietly. He wore his gown and walked along exactly like the other monks, but his face and his step, his peaceful downward glance, his peaceful downward-hanging hand, and every finger of his hand spoke of peace, spoke of completeness, sought nothing, imitated nothing, reflected a continuous quiet, an unfading light, an invulnerable peace.

His eyes were likewise greeted by White Fang, but about the latter there were no signs of shame nor guilt. He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved a deed praiseworthy and meritorious. There was about him no consciousness of sin.

The surprise was that he took it so calmly

Elegantly dressed he was always courteous but firm in what he believed to be just and fair and presented himself as a Moghul, as it were, which quality he possibly inherited from his maternal side.

She stood and turned around and of course there was nothing there. But she could see him standing there, his hands jammed deep into his pockets, that easy, crooked grin on his pleasant-rather-than-handsome face, leaning lanky and at ease against a monument or one of the stone gateposts or maybe just a tree gone red with fall's dying fire.

He lived in a strange, silent house and looked out of it through calm eyes. He was a stranger to all the world, but he was not lonely.

The most distant mountains, like himself, just stood there and gazed.

The gentleman lolling back in the chaise was neither dashingly handsome nor yet unbearably ugly, neither too stout nor yet too thin; it could not be claimed he was old but he was no stripling, either. His arrival in the town created no stir and was not marked by anything out of the ordinary.

He who feared that he would not succeed sat still.

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

No one was about, yet he seemed to sense the presence of watching eyes behind blank windows.

Lee was too cool by nature to rage at fate; his manner was to raise an eyebrow and greet it laconically.

Among his own country folk Confucius wore a homely look, like one that has no word to say.