Love Of Truth, Ordinary Common

If You Talked Or Laughed In Church, Told Lies, Had Impure Thoughts Or Conversations, You Were Bad; If You Obeyed Your Parents Or Guardians, Went To Confession And Communion Regularly, Said Prayers For The Dead, You Were Good.

Like Michelangelo And Cellini, Florentines Of Every Station Are Absorbed In Acquiring Real Estate: A Little Apartment That Can Be Rented To Foreigners; A Farm That Will Supply The Owner With Oil, Wine, Fruit, And Flowers For The House.

The Horror Of Gandhi's Murder Lies Not In The Political Motives Behind It Or In Its Consequences For Indian Policy Or For The Future Of Non-violence; The Horror Lies Simply In The Fact That Any Man Could Look Into The Face Of This Extraordinary Person And Deliberately Pull A Trigger.

As Subjects, We All Live In Suspense, From Day To Day, From Hour To Hour; In Other Words, We Are The Hero Of Our Own Story. We Cannot Believe That It Is Finished, That We Are 'finished,' Even Though We May Say So; We Expect Another Chapter, Another Installment, Tomorrow Or Next Week.

Combativeness Was, I Suppose, The Dominant Trait In My Grandmother's Nature. An Aggressive Churchgoer, She Was Quite Without Christian Feeling; The Mercy Of The Lord Jesus Had Never Entered Her Heart. Her Piety Was An Act Of War Against Protestant Ascendancy. ...the Teachings Of The Church Did Not Interest Her, Except As They Were A Rebuke To Others.