“Love, sometimes, ends. But its memory lasts forever, and forever it may come again. Love is not a mountain, it is a wheel. No harsher praxis exists in this world. There are three things that will beggar the heart and make it crawl – faith, hope and love – and the cruelest of these is love.”

“But three days later he rose out of his tomb and ate bread and drank wine somewhat gone to vinegar and spoke with all of them. Didymus himself had needed to touch Yeshua’s wounds, half-scabbed and half-healed, warped and ropy with scars, before he could call him brother, and believe it true.”

“You must have planted him deep and well, one of my mothers said, for him to sprout so quickly.”

That corpse you planted last year in your garden, has it begun to sprout?