"Aisle" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... irregular bizarre beauty, its unexpected turns and corners, which gave it a capricious fanciful air for all the solidity and business-like strength of its Norman framework, and as they rambled out again, Forbes made them pause over a window in the northern aisle—a window by some Flemish artist of the fifteenth century, who seems to have embodied in it at once all his knowledge and all his dreams. In front sat Jonah under his golden-tinted gourd—an ill-tempered ...
— Miss Bretherton • Mrs. Humphry Ward
... I just walked. Then I was in another compartment by myself and still walking, and the stuff kept getting deeper, until I lost physical control of myself and fell down. Then I lay there a while until you came down that aisle and saw me. And after you'd picked me up and put me in that chair—just like that, everything clears up! Except that I don't remember what happened and think I've just left Mantelish to go looking for you. I ...
— Legacy • James H Schmitz
... for the presentation of the woman's declaration. Not quite sure how their approach might be met—not quite certain if at this final moment they would be permitted to reach the presiding officer—those ladies arose and made their way down the aisle. The bustle of preparation for the Brazilian hymn covered their advance. The foreign guests, the military and civil officers who filled the space directly in front of the speaker's stand, courteously made way, while Miss Anthony in ...
— History of Woman Suffrage, Volume III (of III) • Various
... only give from recollection a statement of a tradition, that when Jesus Christ died he turned his head towards the south; and so, ever since, the south side of a church has the pre-eminence. There generally is the bishop's throne, and the south aisle of ancient basilicas was appropriated to men. Simple observation shows that the supposed sanctity extends to the churchyard,—for there the ...
— Notes & Queries, No. 38, Saturday, July 20, 1850 • Various
... shelves; but the grave-digger numbers his graves. He would indeed be something different from human if his solitary open-air and tragic labours left not a broad mark upon his mind. There, in his tranquil aisle, apart from city clamour, among the cats and robins and the ancient effigies and legends of the tomb, he waits the continual passage of his contemporaries, falling like minute drops into eternity. As they fall, he counts ...
— Memories and Portraits • Robert Louis Stevenson
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