The cure for a broken heart is simple, my lady. A hot bath and a good night's sleep.

The cure for a broken heart is simple, my lady. A hot bath and a good night's sleep.

Lying in bed, half-covered by the blankets, I would drowsily ask why he had come to my door that night long ago. It had become a ritual for us, as it does for all lovers: where, when, why? remember...I understand even old people rehearse their private religion of how they first loved, most guarded of secrets. And he would answer, sleep blurring his words, "Because I had to." The question and the answer were always the same. Why? Because I had to.

Boredom is that awful state of inaction when the very medicine - that is, activity - which could solve it, is seen as odious.

What is one person's diversion may be another's supreme test.

I did not worry about what a man or woman personally believed, but the nation's official religion should be outwardly practiced by all its citizens. A religion was a political statement. Being a Calvinist, a papist, a Presbyterian, an Anglican labeled a person's philosophy on education, taxes, poor relief, and other secular things. The nation needed an accepted position on such concerns. Hence the fines for not outwardly conforming to the national church.

We are always tortured by our memory of the last time we were with anyone, what we said, what we did not say.