Enemies are an indication of character.
A little work, a little sleep, a little love and it's all over.
pretense is the oil that lubricates society.
the calm of a place like Bellwood is the peace of death without the hope of resurrection.
because we are always staring at the stars, we learn the shortness of our arms.
Patience and endurance were not virtues in a woman; they were necessities, forced on her. Perhaps some day things would change and women would renounce them. They would rise up and say: 'We are not patient. We will endure no more.' Then what would happen to the world?