Who was to know what went on in a person's heart? A wise woman kept her own counsel.
Who was to know what went on in a person's heart? A wise woman kept her own counsel.
Why, she wondered, do we always reserve our worst hatred for our own?
But she had known, better than anyone else, what demons he had faced, had known how hard he had fought to free himself from them. That he had lost the fight in the end made the struggle no less honorable.
Heed my words, daughter, if you ever mean to be happy: Never give yourself to a man.
Shattered by the cumulative effect of so much horror and death, Joan was again afflicted by a crisis of faith. How could a good and benevolent God let such a thing happen? How could He so terribly afflict even children and babies, who were not guilty of any sin?
She did not care about anything very much. Hope was gone. She existed that was all.
She had discovered that her love of knowing was not unnatural or sinful but the direct consequence of a God-given ability to reason.
Strange the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moments unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.
The bud of a rose grows in darkness. It knows nothing of the sun, yet it pushes at the darkness that confines it until at last the walls give way and the rose bursts forth, spreading its petals into the light. I love him.
There was always a way, when one knew what one wanted.
Thunder sounded, very near, and the child woke.
What is life? The joy of the blessed, the sorrow of the sad, and a search for death. And what is death? An inevitable happening, an uncertain pilgrimage, the tears of the living, the thief of man.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories