Heather Day Gilbert

Something's still wrong--the same thing that was wrong forty years ago. A malignancy, a tumor, slowly growing in someone's heart. A conscience that's seared.

There are times when the evil seems so impenetrable, the wickedness so victorious, you don't even know how to hope. But then the good news bursts in, as impossible to deny as it is to believe.

What I did cannot be forgiven, any more than it could have been avoided.

Some are born to love, and some to fight. How can I ever succeed at both?

I'm not surprised he wants to challenge me here, where no one can protect me. He thinks I'm a weak woman. He thinks wrong.

My dear husband Thomas has informed me that I can't walk without natural hip action. The more I slow to adjust my walk, the more my hips determine to swing of their own accord.

I am happy to be alone. Perhaps this is true. Or perhaps I am the biggest coward of all.

If we are to survive, I must start and end my war this same day.

An uncertain warrior is no warrior at all.

I wish I could fly like that hawk, rising and falling with the still spaces in the air, far above all this sickness and death and evil.

When he leaned in to kiss me, the future swirled before me, bright as sunlight on creek water.

Judgment doesn__ always fall on the unjust in this life. Sometimes you have to make your own way out.

Responsibilities fall heaviest on those willing to take the load.

A married man is a preoccupied man.