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Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter (p158):

Sometimes, a haunted old woman, I wander about in this house that Nathan and I renewed, that is now aged and worn by our life in it. How many steps, wearing the thresholds? I look at it all again. Sometimes it fills to the brim with sorrow, which signifies the joy that has been here, and the love. It is entirely a gift.

I’ve heard it said that grief is the price of love, and that seems true to me. Love is a great risk; only the indifferent are safe. But what good is such safety?

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