Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them: they can be injured by us, they can be wounded; they know all our penitence, all our aching sense that their place is empty, all the kisses we bestow on the smallest relic of their presence.
All meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation.
A proud heart and a lofty mountain are never fruitful.
Those who trust us educate us.
Wise books For half the truths they hold are honored tombs.
It is never too late to become the person you always thought you could be.