Strange, the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moment's unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.

What is life? The joy of the blessed, the sorrow of the sad, and a search for death. And what is death? An inevitable happening, an uncertain pilgrimage, the tears of the living, the thief of man.

Strange, the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moment's unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.

Is it not lack of faith that leads men to fear the scrutiny of reason? If the destination is doubtful, then the path must be fraught with fear. A robust faith need not fear, for if God exists, then reason cannot help but lead us to Him. 'Cogito, ergo Deus est,' argues St. Augustine, 'I think, therefore God is.'

To marry is to surrender everything--not only your body but your pride, your independence, even your life.

Heed my words, daughter, if you ever mean to be happy: Never give yourself to a man.

Who was to know what went on in a person's heart? A wise woman kept her own counsel.