Last Christmas in Paris

by Hazel Gaynor

It gives me purpose, and purpose gives me hope.

Letters make one uncommonly honest, don’t you think? I’ve told you things in words that I would have been far too shy or distracted to tell you in person.

Financial gain is one thing. To tell the truth is a far nobler prospect.

He’s charming without knowing it, intelligent without being boastful, and kind without expectation.

They said it would be over by Christmas. They didn’t say which one though, did they?

One must always have adventure in life, or the promise of it, at least.

“I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.”