Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose.

Everything happens for a reason, don't worry everything is going to be okay.

Old hands soil, it seems, whatever they caress, but they too have their beauty when they are joined in prayer. Young hands were made for caresses and the sheathing of love. It is a pity to make them join too soon.

Hobbies are apt to run away with us, you know; it doesn&#39;t do to be run away with. We must keep the reins.

Written By George Eliot

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