“Strange the workings of the heart. One could go on for years, habituated to loss, reconciled to it, and then, in a moments unwary thought, the pain resurfaced, sharp and raw as a fresh wound.”

“Truly Virgil was right: love was a form of sickness. It altered people, made them behave in strange and irrational ways.”

“Who was to know what went on in a person's heart? A wise woman kept her own counsel.”

“Shattered by the cumulative effect of so much horror and death, Joan was again afflicted by a crisis of faith. How could a good and benevolent God let such a thing happen? How could He so terribly afflict even children and babies, who were not guilty of any sin?”

“There was always a way, when one knew what one wanted.”

“She had discovered that her love of knowing was not unnatural or sinful but the direct consequence of a God-given ability to reason.”

“The bud of a rose grows in darkness. It knows nothing of the sun, yet it pushes at the darkness that confines it until at last the walls give way and the rose bursts forth, spreading its petals into the light. I love him.”