The church is a sort of hospital for men's souls and as full of quackery as the hospital for their bodies.
Henry David ThoreauAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: July 12, 1817
- Died: May 6, 1862
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For in grief nothing "stays put." One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?
How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.
C. S. Lewis