Heart's Blood

How could you not know?" His voice was full of wonderment. "You changed me utterly. You were like a...like a bright, wonderful bloom in a garden full of weeds. Like a graceful capital on a page of plain script, a letter decorated with the deepest, finest colors in all Erin. Like a flame, Caitrin. Like a song.

Even in that time of utter darkness, somewhere deep inside me the memory of love and goodness had stayed alive.

You are... you're like a beating heart. A glowing lamp. I've never met anyone like you before.

As for religious faith, a lack of it shouldn't stop us from doing good deeds for their own sake.

This had been real: real in its flaws and uncertainties, real in its small triumphs, real in its compromises and understanding.

He was seated on the bench now. He had his left elbow on his knee, his right arm across his lap, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. White face, red hair: snow and fire, like something from an old tale. The book I had noticed earlier was on the bench beside him, its covers shut. Around Anluan's feet and in the birdbath, small visitors to the garden hopped and splashed and made the most of the day that was becoming fair and sunny. He did not seem to notice them. As for me, I found it difficult to take my eyes from him. There was an odd beauty in his isolation and his sadness, like that of a forlorn prince ensorcelled by a wicked enchantress, or a traveller lost forever in a world far from home.

Trust can be a hard lesson; hope still more difficult.

I do not view suicide as wicked, just terribly sad. There is only one death, but it is like a stone cast into a pond - the ripples stretch far. Such an act must leave a burden of sorrow, guilt, shame and confusion on an entire family. A natural death, such as my father suffered, is hard enough to deal with. A decision to end one's life must be still more devastating for those left behind. I cannot imagine the degree of hopelessness someone must feel to contemplate such an act.

With courage and hope, we can conquer our fears and do what we once believed impossible.

The warmth of his embrace soaked into me, a powerful charm against the dark things.

Hope is such a tenuous quality. To feel it and then to be denied what one most longs for ... Better, surely, not to hope at all, than to open the heart to a hope that is impossible.

The most powerful weapon is hope.

I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

But I believe we all have an inner goodness; a little flame that stays alight through the worst of trials.

We’re all trapped in a net of consequences, condemned to paths outside our control. It’s the way of things.

I cannot expiate my sin, yet I am compelled to try. My mind will not let me rest. There must be something I could have done, some way I could have acted, something I could have changed to snatch victory from bitter defeat.

Only a fool gives up his one treasure.

Can a split quill write fair script? Can a blunt axe cut wood for the fire? Can a cripple please a lady?