Life and Existence

Why were we crucified into sex?

 

Nothing is so frequent as to mistake an ordinary human gift for a special and extraordinary endowment.

It is well that the stately synagogue should lift its walls by the side of the aspiring cathedral, a perpetual reminder that there are many mansions in Father’s earthly house as well as in the heavenly ones.

It is the peculiarity of the bore that he is the last person to find himself out.

Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits.

But the body is deeper than the soul and its secrets inscrutable. E. M.

Measure your life in love.

 

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens. J. R. R.

The Hobbits are just rustic English people, made small in size because it reflects the generally small reach of their imagination. J. R. R.

Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.

You know a real friend? Someone you know will look after your cat after you are gone.

The tragedy is when you’ve got sex in the head instead of down where it belongs.

Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.

 

Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.

 

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day.

 

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal’d: I strove against the stream and all in vain: Let the great river take me to the main: No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Ask me no more.

 

a fruitless enterprise, a great mistake, a decrepit frenzy, and rightly viewed, a corpse, some dust, a shadow, mere nothingness.

 

There is no time like the old time, when you and I were young.

 

A child’s

And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which . . . my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane.

And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which . . . my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane.

The heart is an organ of fire.

Do you know what it means to come home at night to a woman who'll give you a little love, a little affection, a little tenderness? It means you're in the wrong house, that's what it means.

There is scarcely any less bother in the running of a family than in that of an entire state. And domestic business is no less importunate for being less important.