You are my flesh and blood and I have always doted on you, but right now I would have to say you deserve a haughty, ruined chit for your own and she deserves you.
Unfortunately, Sir Gerald, people rarely get what they deserve in this life. Perhaps that is why we have had to invent a heaven. – Miss Blythe, A Precious Jewel.
Some things,” she said, “are best not known for sure, Lord Trentham.
There was at least as much to learn as there was to be taught.
If there were no illusions, there would bo no disillusionment. But then one would have no fond memories either, with which fortify oneself against the pain of the reality.
I believe tnat life is very generous with us once we have shown the will to take a positive course. It is ery ready to keep on opening doors for us. It is just that sometimes we lose our willpower and courage adn prefer to stay on the familiar, safe side of each door.
Home had always been a place to dream of.
And then something blossomed deep within and opened almost like the multitude petals of a rose, pushing back the tension in rippling waves as they bloomed until she surrendered to relaxation with a soft exclamation of surprise.
Ah, but we are women as well as teachers... We have needs that nature has given us fr the very preservation of our species.
Negativity could be frighteningly contagious.
A sunrise or sunset can be ablaze with brilliance and arouse all the passion, all the yearning, in the soul of the beholder.
Every moment is a moment of decision, and every moment turns us inexorably in the direction of the rest of our lives.
Nothing is permanently perfect. But there are perfect moments and the will to choose what will bring about more perfect moments.
There is no happily-ever-after to run to. We have to work for happiness.
I do believe in fate, Anne-not the blind fate that gives one no freedom of choice, but a fate that sets down a pattern for each of our lives and gives us choices, numerous choices, by which to find that pattern and be happy.
Perhaps she was just looking for love in the wrong places. In all the safe places. What if love was not safe at all?
Life, she realized, so often became a determined, relentless avoidance of pain-of one’s own, of other people’s. But sometimes pain had to be acknowledged and even touched so that one could move into it and through it and past it. Or else be destroyed by it.
Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being. No one was shallow. Not really.
I prefer to believe the opposite – that there is always an indestructible beauty at the heart of darkness.
Even friends need private spaces, if only within the depths of their own souls, where no one else is allowed to intrude.