Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promise only; pain we obey.
Illness is the doctor to whom we pay most heed; to kindness, to knowledge, we make promise only; pain we obey.
In each individual the spirit is made flesh, in each one the whole of creation suffers, in each one a Savior is crucified.
Death is the king of this world: ‘Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.
Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.
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