Old Grief Passes Slowly Into The Quiet Joy Of Supplication

Old grief by great mystery of human life passes slowly into the quiet joy of supplication; instead of young exuberant blood comes meek clear old age: I bless the sun rise every day, and my heart still sings it, but I love more the sunset of his long slanting rays of it, and with them the quiet, meek, the affectionate memories, cute images with all long and blessed life – and above all, the truth of God, touching, reconciling, forgiving!

Fedor Dostoevsky

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