No One Can Be Free Who Has

Some Nights Are Like Honey - And Some Like Wine - And Some Like Wormwood.

We Belong To The Race That Knows Joseph

The Beauty Of Winter Is That It Makes You Appreciate Spring.

Anne Came Dancing Home In The Purple Winter Twilight Across The Snowy Places.

It Is A Strange Thing To Read A Letter After The Writer Is Dead - A Bitter-sweet Thing, In Which Pain And Comfort Are Strangely Mingled.