A bloggy place to think out loud.
"Here's my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above." (Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, v. 3)
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19 March 2017
"It surprised him that his grief was sharper than in the past few days. He had forgotten that grief does not decline in a straight line or along a slow curve like a graph in a child's math book. Instead, it was almost as if his body contained a big pile of garden rubbish full both of heavy lumps of dirt and of sharp thorny brush that would stab him when he least expected it."
- Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, Helen Simonson