You can sit right on my middle finger for the night
Those bitter sorrows of childhood!-- when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings to fly beyond the days and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless.
Rome - the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar.
Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self.
People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their nearest neighbors.
Life is measured by the rapidity of change, the succession of influences that modify the being.
All passion becomes strength when it has an outlet.
Your life is your message.
Hope- the recognition, by true foresight, of better things to be reached here after.
When something horrible happens, it's human nature to want to blame it on someone. We want someone to be held accountable, even though sometimes things just happen.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?