We and the world, my children, will always be at war. Retreat is impossible. Arm yourselves.
Hope is like yeast, you know, rising under warmth.
Routine is worry's sly assassin.
Good advice is a wise man's friend, of course; but sometimes it just flies on past, and all you can do is wave.
What else exhausts like sustained deception?
I prayed the Lord would sort (my prayers) out and answer as needed. Above all that he would hurry.