“The storm ate up September’s cry of despair, delighted at its mischief, as all storms are.”

“By all means," cried the bard, his eyes lighting up. "A Fflam to the rescue! Storm the castle! Carry it by assault! Batter down the gates!""There's not much of it left to storm," said Eilonwy. "Oh?" said Fflewddur, with disappointment. "Very well, we shall do the best we can.”

“Storms are not afraid of you; all you must do is not to afraid of the storms too!”

“Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?”

“Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end. All is change; all yields its place and goes; to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man. The coward despairs.”

“Love. The wide sea that one word conjures up, all the currents and tides and storms and oily swells of it.”