One Is Seldom Unchanged By The Death

We All Of Us Need To Be Toppled Off The Throne Of Self, My Dear," He Said. "perched Up There The Tears Of Others Are Never Upon Our Own Cheek.

There Always Comes, I Think, A Sort Of Peak In Suffering At Which Either You Win Over Your Pain Or Your Pain Wins Over You, According As To Whether You Can, Or Cannot, Call Up That Extra Ounce Of Endurance That Helps You To Break Through The Circle Of Yourself And Do The Hitherto Impossible. That Extra Ounce Carries You Through 'le Dernier Quart D' Heure.' Psychologist Have A Name For It, I Believe. Christians Call It The Grace Of God.

As This World Becomes Increasingly Ugly, Callous And Materialistic It Needs To Be Reminded That The Old Fairy Stories Are Rooted In Truth, That Imagination Is Of Value, That Happy Endings Do, In Fact, Occur, And That The Blue Spring Mist That Make An Ugly Street Look Beautiful Is Just As Real A Thing As The Street Itself.

The Elements Were "seeking" Each Other In Rage And Confusion, And In The Fury Of The Conflict Boastful Man Was Utterly Humiliated, Sucked Down, Drowned.

For She Had Discovered That As Well As The Evil Web There Was Another. This Too Bound Spirits Together, But Not In A Tangle, It Was A Patterned Web And One Could See The Silver Pattern When The Sun Shone Upon It. It Seemed Much Frailer Than The Dark Tangle, That Had A Hideous Strength, But It Might Not Be So Always, Not In The Final Reckoning. (the Child From The Sea)