The sharpest memory of our old-fashioned Christmas eve is my mother's hand making sure I was settled in bed.

The imagination is the spur of delights... all depends upon it it is the mainspring of everything now is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise?

Bereavement is the sharpest challenge to our trust in God if faith can overcome this there is no mountain which it cannot remove.