The Shape Of My Life Is, Of

The Web Of Marriage Is Made By Propinquity, In The Day To Day Living Side By Side, Looking Outward In The Same Direction. It Is Woven In Space And In Time Of The Substance Of Life Itself.

When We Start At The Center Of Ourselves, We Discover Something Worthwhile Extending Toward The Periphery Of The Circle. We Find Again Some Of The Joy In The Now, Some Of The Peace In The Here, Some Of The Love In Me And Thee Which Go To Make Up The Kingdom Of Heaven On Earth.

If It Is A Woman's Function To Give, She Must Be Replenished, Too.

The Intellectual Is Constantly Betrayed By His Vanity. Godlike He Blandly Assumes That He Can Express Everything In Words; Whereas The Things One Loves, Lives, And Dies For Are Not, In The Last Analysis Completely Expressible In Words.

There Is No Aristocracy Of Grief. Grief Is A Great Leveler.