So every day is a battle, and I'm so tired I don't want to live; only it's cowardly to die till you have done something.
Louisa May AlcottAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist
- Nationality: american
- Born: November 29, 1832
- Died: March 6, 1888
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Love was a sacred garment, woven of a fabric so thin that it could not be seen, yet so strong that even mighty death could not tear it, a garment that could not be frayed by use, that brought warmth into what would otherwise be an intolerable, cold world- but at times love could also be as heavy as chain mail. Bearing the burden of love, on those occasions when it was a solemn weight, made it more precious when, in better times, it caught the wind in sleeves like wings, and lifted you.
Dean Koontz