Buts Quotes (page 1018)
We are the dead,' he said.'We're not dead yet,' said Julia prosaically.'Not physically. Six months, a year? five years, conceivably. I am afraid of death. You are young, so presumably you're more afraid of it than I am. Obviously we shall put it off as long as we can. But it makes very little difference. So longs as human beings stay human, death and life are the same thing.''Oh, rubbish! Which would you sooner sleep with, me or a skeleton? Don't you enjoy being alive? Don't you like feeling:...
George Orwell
A mountain is a strange and awful thing. In old times, without knowingso much of their strangeness and awfulness as we do, people were yetmore afraid of mountains. But then somehow they had not come to seehow beautiful they are as well as awful, and they hated them--and whatpeople hate they must fear. Now that we have learned to look at themwith admiration, perhaps we do not feel quite awe enough of them. Tome they are beautiful terrors.
George MacDonald
There has come to you as your birthright something beautiful and sacred and divine. Never forget that. Your Eternal Father is the Great master of the Universe. He rules over all, but He also will listen to your prayers as His daughter and hear you as you speak with Him. He will answer your prayers. He will not leave you alone.
Gordon B. Hinckley
I was tired enough to sleep, but I fought against the weariness. I wasn't going to miss a second of the time I had with him. Now and then, as he talked with Alice, he would lean down suddenly and kiss mehis glass-smooth lips brushing against my hair, my forehead, the tip of my nose. Each time it was like an electric shock to my long dormant heart. The sound of its beating seemed to fill the entire room. It was heavenright smack in the middle of hell.
Stephenie Meyer


The seamen had whitewashed the smoky ceilings of the ward, and that dear homely smell carried the vividness of thatch and lumpy walls and stew given from the goodness of a stranger's heart. But that was all there was of comfort, and the salt air had turned from cold to warm in the passing of a life, an afternoon.
Peter Carey