While Ye Sleep In My

Home Is The Place Where They Have To Take You In

Time Does Not Really Exist For Mothers, With Regard To Their Children. It Does Not Matter Greatly How Old The Child Is-in The Blink Of An Eye, A Mother Can See The Child Again As They Were When They Were Born, When They Learned How To Walk, As They Were At Any Age-at Any Time, Even When The Child Is Fully Grown Or A Parent Themselves.

He's A Man...and That's No Small Thing To Be.

I Wasn't Used To Living Crowded Cheek By Jowl With Numbers Of Other People, As Was Customary Here. People Ate, Slept, And Frequently Copulated, Crammed Into Tiny, Stifling Cottages, Lit And Warmed By Smoky Peat Fires. The Only Thing They Didn't Do Together Was Bathe - Largely Because They Didn't Bathe.

Time Is A Lot Of The Things People Say That God Is. There's Always Preexisting, And Having No End. There's The Notion Of Being All Powerful-because Nothing Can Stand Against Time, Can It? Not Mountains, Not Armies. And Time Is, Of Course, All-healing. Give Anything Enough Time, And Everything Is Taken Care Of: All Pain Encompassed, All Hardship Erased, All Loss Subsumed. Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust. Remember, Man, That Thou Art Dust; And Unto Dust Thou Shalt Return. And If Time Is Anything Akin To God, I Suppose That Memory Must Be The Devil.