Death was a beginning and not an end; it was the morning of the spirit. Tired bodies lay down to sleep and their souls wakened to the morning, rested; the first fruits of them that slept.
Mary Roberts Rinehart[On the Irish:] Strange race ... Don't know what they want, but want it like the devil.
Mary Roberts RinehartThat is the tragedy of growing old, Chris. You don't leave the world. It leaves you.
Mary Roberts Rinehart