Love is the answer and you know that for sure. Love is a flower, you got to let it — you got to let it grow. We have come by curious ways To the Light that holds the days; We have sought in haunts of fear For that all-enfolding sphere: And lo! Deep in every heart it lies With its untranscended skies; For what heaven should bend above Hearts that own the heaven of love?
If you believe in peace , act peacefully; if you believe in love, acting lovingly; if you believe every which way, then act every which way, that's perfectly valid — but don't go out trying to sell your beliefs to the system. You end up contradicting what you profess to believe in, and you set a bum example. If you want to change the world , change yourself. There are three lessons I would write, — Three words — as with a burning pen, In tracings of eternal light Upon the hearts of men. Have Hope.
Though clouds environ now, And gladness hides her face in scorn, Put thou the shadow from thy brow, — No night but hath its morn. Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven, — The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, — Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven, The habitants of earth. Have Love. Not love alone for one, But men, as man, thy brothers call; And scatter, like the circling sun, Thy charities on all. Thus grave these lessons on thy soul, — Hope, Faith, and Love, — and thou shalt find Strength when life's surges rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind.
Before our lives divide for ever, While time is with us and hands are free , Time, swift to fasten and swift to sever Hand from hand, as we stand by the sea I will say no word that a man might say Whose whole life's love goes down in a day; For this could never have been; and never, Though the gods and the years relent, shall be.
Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour, To think of things that are well outworn?
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Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower, The dream foregone and the deed forborne? Though joy be done with and grief be vain, Time shall not sever us wholly in twain; Earth is not spoilt for a single shower; But the rain has ruined the ungrown corn. I had grown pure as the dawn and the dew, You had grown strong as the sun or the sea. But none shall triumph a whole life through: For death is one, and the fates are three.
At the door of life, by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death; Death could not sever my soul and you, As these have severed your soul from me. You have chosen and clung to the chance they sent you, Life sweet as perfume and pure as prayer.
But will it not one day in heaven repent you? Will they solace you wholly, the days that were? Will you lift up your eyes between sadness and bliss, Meet mine, and see where the great love is, And tremble and turn and be changed? Content you; The gate is strait; I shall not be there.
The pulse of war and passion of wonder, The heavens that murmur, the sounds that shine, The stars that sing and the loves that thunder, The music burning at heart like wine, An armed archangel whose hands raise up All senses mixed in the spirit's cup Till flesh and spirit are molten in sunder — These things are over, and no more mine. These were a part of the playing I heard Once, ere my love and my heart were at strife; Love that sings and hath wings as a bird, Balm of the wound and heft of the knife.
Fairer than earth is the sea, and sleep Than overwatching of eyes that weep, Now time has done with his one sweet word, The wine and leaven of lovely life. Sweet is true love though given in vain , in vain; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. Love, art thou sweet? O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. Here her hand Grasped, made her vail her eyes: she looked and saw The novice, weeping, suppliant, and said to her, "Yea, little maid, for am I not forgiven?
O shut me round with narrowing nunnery-walls, Meek maidens, from the voices crying 'shame. I must not scorn myself: he loves me still. Let no one dream but that he loves me still.
Love lifts us up where we belong Far from the world we know Up where the clear winds blow. A song fluttered down in the form of a dove, And it bore me a message, the one word—Love! Wikipedia has an article about: Love. Look up Love in Wiktionary , the free dictionary. Wikimedia Commons has media related to: Love. Categories : Love Interpersonal relationships Virtues. Namespaces Page Discussion. Views Read Edit View history. In other projects Wikimedia Commons Wikipedia.
And everyone guessed that the killer had to be masquerading as a cop in order to get the hookers to trust him, but not until his arrest did the authorities discover that Bill worked for the county of Riverside at the materials procurement warehouse—he minded the store of cop uniforms,. His hours and his days went largely unaccounted for.
All this posed a particular problem for prosecutors. It quite literally made District Attorney Paul Zellerbach knowingly lie to the jury. In the case of the last victim, who had been killed at night and whose body Bill admitted discovering not killing, merely discovering in the dead of night, Zellerbach felt compelled to present false evidence that she was killed the next morning, just before noon.
After a repeatedly botched investigation over so many years, the cops swaggered around, arrogantly parading themselves and Bill before the media once they finally collared him and declared the case to be closed, trial or no. And the wheels of justice ground on. Grind on, big wheels,. This I found fascinating. It made some sane sense that Bill could kill hookers and then go home and not harm his wife, but what sense did it make that Bill killed some prostitutes but not others?
And Bobby just wanted the attention, to be in the headlines, so he made up the story about Billy saying he hated prostitutes. When she and Billy were in Texas, when he was in the Air Force. That and Dijianet dying. She was a baby—eight weeks old. Billy says Teryl did it, that she shook her too hard or something. I was reeling and I was pissed and I felt like my time was being wasted, and Don knew it. His brother was a baby killer.
Anyone who could kill a baby was capable of any and every horror ever conceived. Prostitute murders were de rigueur for someone experienced in infanticide. I knew that if I told my wife, my agent, or anyone else about that dead baby, then this book would never happen. On the other hand, we are fascinated by women who kill babies or children, and those stories turn into both books and miniseries. We just cannot believe it when women kill their children—we have to stop and examine the situation in minute detail just to accept that it happened, and even then it defies reality, more unreal than real, a true perversion of the natural order of things.
But men who kill their children are simply repugnant—we accept that evil men commit such crimes, and we simply want these men out of our sight and off our planet as quickly as possible. How was this possible? Pleasant but respectful. Charming but reticent. Eddie Haskell on Valium. If we knew the details, then we could never forgive Billy.
I could tell that Don was close to tears. Dijianet Suff died in More than twenty years had passed, and Don had never once had the chance to talk about it, to cry about it, to scream about it. This was a public event but still a family secret.
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Dijianet Suff was gone before the family ever knew her, but she haunts them to this day. As for Billy, I correctly guessed that this crime was the one that embarrassed him. He gets glib about how he was asleep, had nothing to do with it, and has no idea what happened, although he can guess that Teryl did it and then went to work that day, leaving him to wake up later and find the baby dead. Other outrageous and conspiratorial outsiders and interlopers were also possibilities.