The rose-garden world of perfection is a lie and a bore too!

Measure the hate you feel now, and the shame. That quantity is your capacity also to love and to feel joy and to have compassion.

She now knew that the death she feared might not be a physical one, that it could be death of the will, the soul, the mind, the laws, and thus not death, but a perpetual dying.

Worrying is one of my few forms of prayer.

I'm sorry I'm young," Deborah answered with a bitterness that was half prose. "We have a right to be as crazy as anyone else." The second part was more a plea, and to her surprise the superbly inhuman fighter smiled softly and said, "Yes ... I suppose that's true, though I never thought of it in those terms before.

"I'm sorry I'm young," Deborah answered with a bitterness that was half prose. "We have a right to be as crazy as anyone else"

The woman was sane; she accepted the heavy penalties of reality and enjoyed its gifts also.