And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
-Maya Angelou

Sunday, November 2, 2014

For Everything There Is A Season


For everything there is a season,
and a time for every matter under heaven.
A time to be born and a time to die. 


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