A severe mercy – the phrase haunted him: a mercy that was as severe as death, a death that was as merciful as love. For it had been death in love, not death of love. Love can die in many ways, most of them far more terrible than physical death; and if all natural love must die in one way or another, Davy’s death – he and she in love – was the death that hinted at springtime and rebirth. Sitting there on the rough wood of the bridge, he remembered his absolute knowing – something beyond faith or belief – in the moments after her death, in that suddenly empty room, that she still was. She had no ceased with that last light breath. She and he would meet again: ‘And with God be the rest!’ He prayed for a moment in the silent night, prayed for her wherever she might be; and for Lewis, too.
A man must stand erect, not be kept erect by others.
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a super meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
…in the crucible of marriage the judgment can be so intense and oppressive that the only recourse is a loving forgiveness of the other’s wrongs, and in turn a courageous willingness to see one’s own sinfulness exposed, conquered, and actually replaced by the other’s love. In such a relationship, a true transfusion and transformation of characters may take place as each puts on the good qualities of the other and forgives the bad. Each is armor to the other, each is the other’s strength and worth.