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As my poor father used to say In 1963, Once people start on all this Art Goodbye, moralitee! And what my father used to say Is good enough for me.
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I remember when my father passed away, we drove the funeral procession past the bank so he could say one last goodbye. That's how much the bank meant to my father.
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Not so cold, some snow fell. I went inside the log cabin and said goodbye to Mother, she was so alike grandmother, just younger.
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Pen-bereavement is a serious matter.
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I do not believe that grief is ever so great that it can not be contained within.
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Slowly, my brain let me in on the fact that I had just come this close to dying.
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Think of mission like the paddles of a defibrillator applied to the chest of a dying church.
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There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.
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Capital punishment is the most premeditated of murders, to which no criminal's deed, however calculated can be compared. For there to be an equivalency, the death penalty would have to punish a criminal who had warned his victim of the date at which he would inflict a horrible death on him and who, from that moment onward, had confined him at his mercy for months. Such a monster is not encountered in private life.
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What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying.
