somewhere about the eighteenth century, history tacitly replaced religion as the school of public morals.
She had become accustomed to being lonely. She was used to walking alone and to being considered 'different. ' She did not suffer too much.
Look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.
Oh, magic hour, when a child first knows she can read printed words.
The world was hers for the reading.
They learned no compassion from their own anguish. thus their suffering was wasted.
I came to a clear conclusion, and it is a universal one: To live, to struggle, to be in love with life--in love with all life holds, joyful or sorrowful--is fulfillment. The fullness of life is open to all of us.
On any given day, my daughters would snuggle in bed with my wife and me. We just hug and kiss each other. We laugh out loud and act completely silly. I stop and think to myself, "This is love. "
When you've finished a piece of work you've had a kind of love affair with it.
After our mom died, her parents (our grandparents) had this big court battle with dad. After six lawyers, two fistfights, and a near fatal attack with a spatula (don't ask), they won the right to keep Sadie with them in England.
Time is the metre, memory the only plot.