This is my Sanctuary
And were it for thy profit, to obtain all sunshine?
No vicissitude of rain?
Think’st thou that thy laborious plough requires not winter frosts
as well as summer fires?
There must be both:
sometimes these hearts of ours must have the sweet,
the seasonable showers of tears;
sometimes the frost of chill despair
makes our desired sunshine seem more fair.
-Francis Quarles
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Why aren’t you talking to me?
