Verily The Lust For Comfort

Hate Is A Dead Thing. Who Of You Would Be A Tomb?

And How Shall You Punish Those Whose Remorse Is Already Greater Than Their Misdeeds?

The Very Strength That Protects The Heart From Injury Is The Strength That Prevents The Heart From Enlarging To Its Intended Greatness Within. The Song Of The Voice Is Sweet, But The Song Of The Heart Is The Pure Voice Of Heaven.

For The Sight Of The Angry Weather Saddens My Soul And The Sight Of The Town, Sitting Like A Bereaved Mother Beneath Layers Of Ice, Oppresses My Heart.

To Know The Pain Of Too Much Tenderness