The Witching Hour (Lives of the Mayfair Witches, #1)

by Anne Rice

when he touched her hand because she had been thinking of Graham’s death. And the thought of it tortured

“Fear no more.” And this may be a reference to the famous lines of Shakespeare in Cymbeline, “Fear no more the heat of the sun, nor the furious winter’s rages.”

“And the day before Christmas Eve, Aaron,” said Michael. He tried to see the entire spectacle—this venerable and famous avenue of old trees raising their dark knotted arms into the tumbling and gently whirling flakes of snow. “What a little miracle, that it should come now. Oh, God, it would all be so wonderful if …” “May all our miracles be little ones, Michael.” “Yes, the little miracles are the best, aren’t they? Look at it, it’s not melting when it hits the ground. It’s really staying there. It’s going to be

“And I suppose I do believe in the final analysis that a peace of mind can be obtained in the face of the worst horrors and the worst losses. It can be obtained by faith in change and in will and in accident; and by faith in ourselves, that we will do the right thing, more often than not, in the face of adversity.

“If any revelation awaits us at all, it must be as good as our ideals and our best philosophy. For surely nature must embrace the visible and the invisible, and it couldn’t fall short of us. The thing that makes the flowers open and the snowflakes fall must contain a wisdom and a final secret as intricate and beautiful as the blooming camellia or the clouds gathering above, so white and pure in the blackness.