Libraries Are The Torch Of The World,

I Must Remember To Forgive Myself. Because There's An Awful Lot Of Gray To Work With. No One Can Live In The Light All The Time."-a Great And Terrible Beauty

All Morning, Spence Has Been A Well-oiled Machine Of Activity. Everyone Doing Her Bit, Quietly And Efficiently. It's Strange How Deliberate People Are After A Death. All The Indecision Suddenly Vanishes Into Clear, Defined Moments--changing The Linens, Choosing A Dress Or A Hymn, The Washing Up, The Muttering Of Prayers. All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

Reality Is A State Of Mind. To The Banker, The Money In His Ledger Book Is All Very Real, Though He Doesn't Actually See It Or Touch It. But To The Brahma, It Simply Doesn't Exist The Way The Air And The Earth, Pain And Loss Do. To Him, The Banker's Reality Is Folly. To The Banker, The Brahma's Ideas Are As Inconsequential As Dust.

I Told Myself It Was The Snow—she Couldn’t Possibly Get To Philadelphia On The Roads. I Told Myself A Hundred Lies. Children Do That. It’s Amazing The Sorts Of Things You’ll Make Yourself Believe.