The truth is... everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else.

Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

All day long and all night through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in the flood.

The key to all strange things is in thy heart..../ My spirit has come home, that sailed the doubtful seas.

I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.