Custom Is Second Nature.

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides. And When It Subsides You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Have Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part. Because This Is What Love Is. Love Is Not Breathlessness, It Is Not Excitement, It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being In Love Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.

Understanding Is The Reward Of Faith.

God Is Always Trying To Give Good Things To Us, But Our Hands Are Too Full To Receive Them.

My Love For You, Lord, Is Not An Uncertain Feeling, But A Matter Of Concious Certainty. With Your Word You Pierced My Heart, And I Loved You. But Heaven And Earth And Everything In Them On All Sides Tell Me To Love You.

Then Assuredly The World Was Made, Not In Time, But Simultaneously With Time.