To Be Sorry And Glad Together Is

The Sun Is Still There... Even If Clouds Drift Over It. Once You Have Experienced The Reality Of Sunshine You May Weep, But You Will Never Feel Ice About Your Heart Again.

...the Simple Little Words Came Easily, Fitting Themselves To The Tune That Had Come Out Of The Harpsichord. It Didn't Seem To Her That She Made Them Up At All. It Seemed To Her That They Flew In From The Rose-garden, Through The Open Window, Like A Lot Of Butterflies, Poised Themselves On The Point Of Her Pen, And Fell Off It On To The Paper.

Jean Was Visited By One Of Her Rare Moments Of Happiness, One Of Those Moments When The Goodness Of God Was So Real To Her That It Was Like Taste And Scent; The Rough Strong Taste Of Honey In The Comb And The Scent Of Water. Her Thoughts Of God Had A Homeliness That At Times Seemed Shocking, In Spite Of Their Power, Which Could Rescue Her From Terror Or Evil With An Ease That Astonished Her.

Happy The Man Who Lives Long Enough To Acknowledge His Ignorance

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.