“the hollow voice
Of that old crone, the only living sound;
Her face, on which mortality has writ
Its closing, with the wan and bony hand,
Raised like a spectre's—and yourself the while,
Cold from the midnight chill, and white with fear,
Your large blue eyes darker and larger grown
With terror's chain'd attention, and your breath
Suppress'd for very earnestness.”

“She closed her eyes; and in the sweet slumber lying
her spirit tiptoed from its lodging place.
It's folly to shrink in fear, if this is dying;
for death looked lovely in her face.”

“While you can’t keep fear from visiting, you can slam the door in its face. With God’s promise in your hand, that’s exactly what you are able to do.”

“(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”

“There was her face, like a summer peach, beautiful and warm, and the light of the candles reflected in her dark eyes. [He] held his breath. The entire world waited and held its breath.”

“Your Nordic blue eyes looked attentively at the paintings hanging on the walls. I felt stirrings of rebellion: a whole clash between your civilization and my barbarism. Civilization from which you suffer. Barbarism which for me is a rejuvenation.”

“When we feel overwhelmed by all the suffering in the world, or just drained by the stress of the day, do this. Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and know that the very breath you are taking is the same miracle of life that pervades all creation. He who gives you this breath, despite your anxieties, fears and pain, knows you. He knows you better than you will ever understand yourself. Breathe in, breathe out. You are experiencing the miracle. The most amazing miracle of all. The gift of life. All things will find harmony in this knowing, in this, is the whisper of not only all creation, but of the Creator.”

“Like a marble statue placed,
Looking o'er the watery waste,
With its white fixed gaze;
There the Goddess sits, her eye
Raised to the unpitying sky;”

“But Florentine was still riding the crest of her great wave…When it lifted her high she had to hold her breath. How could she ever again be bothered by these petty everyday cares? Would she ever again feel the old anxiety on hearing these dreadful midnight confidences, in the silence heavy with breathing? The wave that bore her was like a long, slow swell. There were hollows into which she sank with all her thoughts, all her willpower, where she was no more than a wing, a feather, a fringe, borne off ever faster, ever faster…He kissed me on the cheeks. On the eyes! "What's going to happen to us, Florentine? If your father's gone and lost his job again, we'll have to live on what you can give us, poor Florentine. We can always go back on relief…”

“Have you ever fed a lover
With just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it.
Have you ever thrown
A fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face,
And said I just don't care?”