…she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.

A cynic who was still saddened whenever his jaundiced view of mankind was confirmed.

Forget the threat of Hell's infernal flames. The true torture would condemn a man to wait and wait and wait - for an eternity

For every wound, the ointment of time.

I’ll admit that my garden now grows hope in lavish profusion, leaving little room for anything else. I suppose it has squeezed out more practical plants like caution and common sense. Still, though, hope does not flourish in every garden, and I feel thankful it has taken root in mine.

Abigail Adams could become my favorite historical sleuth.

…she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.