Memory Is The Sense Of Loss, And

There Is So Little To Remember Of Anyone - An Anecdote, A Conversation At A Table. But Every Memory Is Turned Over And Over Again, Every Word, However Chance, Written In The Heart In The Hope That Memory Will Fulfill Itself, And Become Flesh, And That The Wanderers Will Find A Way Home, And The Perished, Whose Lack We Always Feel, Will Step Through The Door Finally And Stroke Our Hair With Dreaming Habitual Fondness Not Having Meant To Keep Us Waiting Long.

Christianity Is A Life, Not A Doctrine . . . I'm Not Saying Never Doubt Or Question. The Lord Gave You A Mind So That You Would Make Honest Use Of It. I'm Saying You Must Be Sure That The Doubts And Questions Are Your Own.

When Things Are Taking Their Ordinary Course, It Is Hard To Remember What Matters. There Are So Many Things You Would Never Think To Tell Anyone. And I Believe They May Be The Things That Mean Most To You, And That Even Your Own Child Would Have To Know In Order To Know You Well At All.

To Crave And To Have Are As Like As A Thing And Its Shadow. For When Does A Berry Break Upon The Tongue As Sweetly As When One Longs To Taste It, And When Is The Taste Refracted Into So Many Hues And Savors Of Ripeness And Earth, And When Do Our Senses Know Any Thing So Utterly As When We Lack It? And Here Again Is A Foreshadowing - The World Will Be Made Whole. For To Wish For A Hand On One's Hair Is All But To Feel It. So Whatever We May Lose, Very Craving Gives It Back To Us Again.

He Will Wipe The Tears From All Faces.' It Takes Nothing From The Loveliness Of The Verse To Say That Is Exactly What Will Be Required