The Perfect Moment, Once Lost, Is Not

All Human Beings Have Their Otherness And It Is That Which Cries Out To The Heart.

There's Much That Goes To The Makin' Of A Man Or Woman Into Somethin' Better Than A Brute Beast, But There's Three Things In Chief, An' They're The Places Where Life Sets Us Down, An' The Folks Life Knocks Us Up Against, An' -- Not The Things Ye Get, But The Things Ye Don't Get.

To Be Sorry And Glad Together Is To Be Perceptive To The Richness Of Life.

There Always Comes, I Think, A Sort Of Peak In Suffering At Which Either You Win Over Your Pain Or Your Pain Wins Over You, According As To Whether You Can, Or Cannot, Call Up That Extra Ounce Of Endurance That Helps You To Break Through The Circle Of Yourself And Do The Hitherto Impossible. That Extra Ounce Carries You Through 'le Dernier Quart D' Heure.' Psychologist Have A Name For It, I Believe. Christians Call It The Grace Of God.

Water, Wind And Birdsong Were The Echoes In This Quiet Place Of A Great Chiming Symphony That Was Surging Around The World. Knee-deep In Grasses And Moon Daisies, Stella Stood And Listened, Swaying A Little As The Flowers And Trees Were Swaying, Her Spirit Voice Singing Loudly, Though Her Lips Were Still, And Every Pulse In Her Body Beating Its Hammer Strokes In Time To The Song.