Prayer's A Very Tricky Business.

Perhaps Watching Someone You Love Suffer Can Teach You Even More Than Suffering Yourself Can.

Walking Down Belmotte Was The Oddest Sensation-- Every Step Took Us Deeper Into The Mist Until At Last It Closed Over Our Heads. It Was Like Being Drowned In The Ghost Of Water.

Only Half A Page Left Now. Shall I Fill It With 'i Love You, I Love You'-- Like Father's Page Of Cats On The Mat? No. Even A Broken Heart Doesn't Warrant A Waste Of Good Paper.

Ah, But You're The Insidious Type--jane Eyre With Of Touch Of Becky Sharp. A Thoroughly Dangerous Girl.

He Stood Staring Into The Wood For A Minute, Then Said: "what Is It About The English Countryside — Why Is The Beauty So Much More Than Visual? Why Does It Touch One So?" He Sounded Faintly Sad. Perhaps He Finds Beauty Saddening — I Do Myself Sometimes. Once When I Was Quite Little I Asked Father Why This Was And He Explained That It Was Due To Our Knowledge Of Beauty's Evanescence, Which Reminds Us That We Ourselves Shall Die. Then He Said I Was Probably Too Young To Understand Him; But I Understood Perfectly.