Quotes About Community

It would be a cull." "Culls happen for the health of the community. They're unfortunate, but necessary

Now there is no more loneliness. Go now to your dwelling place / To enter into the days of your togetherness

In Beauvoir's experience Darwin was way wrong. The fittest didn't survive. They were killed by the idiocy of their neighbors, who continued to bumble along oblivious.

Myrna. "Not that I'm a prude, but the children…" "Oh for God's sake," said Myrna. "I didn't say that at all. Clara's making it up." "Of course, if we held it at night, after the kids were asleep," said Gabri. "Put torches

Louise Penny

Looking around he realised how much he liked this place and these people. Too bad one of them was a murderer.

Three short words, but potent. They more than anything had launched a thousand ships, a thousand attacks. One of us. A circle drawn. And closed. A boundary marked. Those inside and those not.

Gamache again marveled at the people who chose to live in this area. Was Margaret Atwood a garbage collector perhaps? Or maybe Prime Minister Mulroney had picked up a second career delivering the mai. No one was who they seemed. Everone was more.

No place could ever be warmer than Three Pines.

au lait. "We all

Churches were either great cavernous tributes not so much to God as the wealth and privilege of the community, or they were austere, cold tributes to the ecstasy of refusal.

All having discovered a village only ever found by people lost.

Anything could happen to anyone, at any moment. What made a place safe were the people. The caring. The kindness. The helping. Sometimes the mourning. And often the forgiveness.

The dead woman's name is Jane Neal,' Gamache knew it was a false kindness to cushion a blow like this.

The Ouellet Quints.

She stood with her back to the lively fire perking in the stone fireplace, feeling warm for the first time in hours, and she smelt the homemade soup and bread and watched the deadly weapon progress around the room. Clara and Myrna stood in line at the buffet table, balancing mugs of steaming French Canadian pea soup and plates with warm rolls from the boulangerie. Just ahead Nellie was piling food on to her plate.

This village was old, and you don't get to be old without knowing grief. And loss.

and volunteering in the community. Mind, body, and spirit, the cadets were told. Over and

What Three Pines had wasn't immunity but a rare ability to heal.

Since Myrna was a purveyor of books, and the young agent was addicted to them, this made the bookseller her pusher, though actually more like her priestess.

He sailed through the crowd, through the front of the small church, and found himself in the gloom inside. It always struck Gamache as paradoxical that churches were gloomy. Coming in from the sunshine it took a minute or so to adjust. And even then, to Gamache, it never came close to feeling like home. Churches were either great cavernous tributes not so much to God as the wealth and privilege of the community, or they were austere, cold tributes to the ecstasy of refusal.

She coughed, and Reine-Marie stopped where she was. And had to remind herself that a cough was no longer a threat. A sneeze wasn't an attack. The vaccine had worked. It was one of the great global shared experiences. The plague and the cure. But still, she had to force herself forward, to stand beside the young woman with the sniffles.

Between them on the table sat a basket of steaming rolls and a small dish of butter balls.

He'd seen Gamache go into homes, warehouses, forests where they knew heavily