Despair Is A Free Man--hope Is A

Walter's Eyes Were Very Wonderful. All The Joy And Sorrow And Laughter And Loyalty And Aspirations Of Many Generations Lying Under The Sod Looked Out Of Their Dark-gray Depths.

You're Never Safe From Being Surprised Until You're Dead.

How Wicked I Was To Wish That Something Dramatic Would Happen!' She Thought. 'oh, If We Could Only Have Those Dear, Monotonous, Pleasant Days Back Again! I Would *never* Grumble About Them Again.

I Wonder What A Soul…a Person's Soul…would Look Like,' Said Priscilla Dreamily. 'like That, I Should Think,' Answered Anne, Pointing To A Radiance Of Sifted Sunlight Streaming Through A Birch Tree. 'only With Shape And Features Of Course. I Like To Fancy Souls As Being Made Of Light. And Some Are All Shot Through With Rosy Stains And Quivers…and Some Have A Soft Glitter Like Moonlight On The Sea…and Some Are Pale And Transparent Like Mist At Dawn.

Who Would Endure Life If It Were Not For The Hope Of Death?