All Things Are Possible.

I've Never Been In Love. I Will Die Without Knowing What It Feels Like To Need To See One Person's Face When You Go To Sleep At Night, To Crave Seeing It When You Wake Up. I Wish I Knew.

Who The Heck Is Don Quick-oats?

All Morning, Spence Has Been A Well-oiled Machine Of Activity. Everyone Doing Her Bit, Quietly And Efficiently. It's Strange How Deliberate People Are After A Death. All The Indecision Suddenly Vanishes Into Clear, Defined Moments--changing The Linens, Choosing A Dress Or A Hymn, The Washing Up, The Muttering Of Prayers. All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

I've Heard It Said That God Is In The Details. It's The Same With The Truth. Leave Out The Details, The Crucial Heart, And You Can Damn Someone With The Bare Bones Of It.

They Swoon Over Tom, Who Preens For Them, Bowing, Which Sets Them To Blushing And Giggling. God Help Us All.