We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterward.

There is no shame in loving: it is the sign of a generous heart, and pain the price of an open soul.

And all meet in singing, which braids together the different knowings into a wide and subtle music, the music of living.

It is only the darkness in our own hearts that will defeat us, in the end.

And then like thunder broke the frost, The chill wall fell, and morrowless Immortal maid and man embraced, Their light and shadow mingling.

Joy bubbles on a fountain of doubt.

At these times, the things that troubled her seemed far away and unimportant: all that mattered was the hum of the bees and the chirp of birdsong, the way the sun gleamed on the edge of a blue wildflower, the distant bleat and clink of grazing goats.