Are you what is called a lucky man? Well, you are sad every day. Each day has its great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for the health of one who is dear to you, today you fear for your own; tomorrow it will be an anxiety about money, the next day the slanders of a calumniator, the day after the misfortune of a friend; then the weather, then something broken or lost, then a pleasure for which you are reproached by your conscience or your vertebral column; another time, the course of public affairs. Not to mention heartaches. And so on. One cloud is dissipated, another gathers. Hardly one day in a hundred of unbroken joy and sunshine. And you are of that small number who are lucky! As for other men, stagnant night is upon them.
The saints were his friends, and blessed him; the monsters were his friends, and guarded him.
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The saints were his friends, and blessed him; the monsters were his friends, and guarded him.
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she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn't feelalone.
Or what is it you used to say when we__ to go out in my pickup truck down by the pond, just the two of us? I__ the bit to your bridle. I__ the Jack in your Daniels_.__ould it be weird if I were shedding tears right now?__ou__e the fruit in my pie_you__e the sprinkles on my cake,_ I finish his sentence.
Isn't there in every human soul...an initial spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world, immortal in the next, that good can bring out, prime, ignite, set on fire and cause to blaze splendidly, and that evil can never extinguish?
The sole social evil is darkness; humanity is identity, for all men are made of the same clay.