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Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud.
To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.
To lose your father is to lose the one whose guidance and help you seek, who supports you like a tree trunk supports its branches.
And I began to hear his hoarse roaring, that aaonh cry as rich as gold or honey and as spine-chilling as the depths of an unsafe mine or a thousand angry bees.
