This is what I find so strange: we are not necessarily kind to animals. We use them, we eat them. But we don’t like them to suffer. Yet humans must. They have to wait for the great Vet himself to decide how long their anguish must last and how deep...
I’ll tell you what I don’t believe, Alwyn. I don’t believe there’s a pretty forest in the sky with castles and a white light and God and all his angels waiting to welcome all the good people in. And you and me standing there sick with nerves ...
You have buttered your bread. Now you must lie on it.
Shame lurks in the pockets of the mind (or spirit), like lint. No matter how brave a face you put on things – and believe me, I did – you always have to face yourself in the end.
