I talk to my kids about my mother’s energy and how she would have loved them. I talk about how kind and polite my father was. So that they have some kind of remembrance that even though my parents died from their addictions and so that they know they were genuine in how they were.
When I was a child, I loved old people. My New Hampshire grandfather was my model human being.
One seeks to make the loved one entirely happy, or, if that cannot be, entirely wretched.
The truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free those who have loved it.
I liked to write from the time I was about 12 or 13. I loved to read. And since I only spoke to my brother, I would write down my thoughts. And I think I wrote some of the worst poetry west of the Rockies. But by the time I was in my 20s, I found myself writing little essays and more poetry – writing at writing.
We are the spirit children of a Heavenly Father. He loved us and He taught us before we were born into this world. He told us that He wished to give us all that He had. To qualify for that gift we had to receive mortal bodies and be tested. Because of those mortal bodies, we would face pain, sickness, and death.
She was my first love, and I loved her as only a boy loves.
I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.
The demand to be loved is the greatest of all arrogant presumptions.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all.