And Always, There Was The Magic Of

They Learned No Compassion From Their Own Anguish. Thus Their Suffering Was Wasted.

It's Come At Last," She Thought, "the Time When You Can No Longer Stand Between Your Children And Heartache. When There Wasn't Enough Food In The House You Pretended That You Weren't Hungry So They Could Have More. In The Cold Of A Winter's Night You Got Up And Put Your Blanket On Their Bed So They Wouldn't Be Cold. You'd Kill Anyone Who Tried To Harm Them - I Tried My Best To Kill That Man In The Hallway. Then One Sunny Day, They Walk Out In All Innocence And They Walk Right Into The Grief That You'd Give Your Life To Spare Them From.

People Always Think That Happiness Is A Faraway Thing … Something Complicated And Hard To Get. Yet, What Little Things Can Make It Up.

The Library Was A Little Old Shaby Place. Francie Thought It Was Beautiful. The Feeling She Had About It Was As Good As The Feeling She Had About Church. She Pushed Open The Door And Went In. She Liked The Cmbined Smell Of Worn Leather Bindings, Library Past And Freshly Inked Stamping Pads Better Than She Liked The Smell Of Burning Incense At High Mass.

She Had Heard Papa Sing So Many Songs About The Heart; The Heart That Was Breaking - Was Aching - Was Dancing -was Heavy Laden - That Leaped For Joy - That Was Heavy In Sorrow - That Turned Over - That Stood Still. She Really Believed The Heart Actually Did Those Things.