About fifteen miles above New Orleans the river goes very slowly. It has broadened out there until it is almost a sea and the water is yellow with the mud of half a continent. Where the sun strikes it, it is golden.
– Frank Yerby
From where they stood, they could see the castle.
– Frank Yerby
The middle years - the eighteen-seventies, 'eighties, 'nineties - were a time of moral bankruptcy when men stole millions by a stroke of the pen or by the simple expedient of printing tons of worthless paper.
– Frank Yerby
There was no wind in all that sweep of sky.
– Frank Yerby
When it was over, it was not really over, and that was the trouble.