The death of those who have died is strength to those who are living. It is not first off moral strength or physical strength, nor the sort of stoicism which may masquerade as strength, but only itself, born without desire or personal will, a result, not an intention. We do not choose, but are chosen. This is the way of every crucial event in life.
The strength of the eternal victim is hatred, while the strength of the mere sojourner is in assimilation.
We are all quite completely at the mercy of whatever happens to happen--not the captains of our own destinies but lowly sailors in a storm. When the winds are harsh and the waves are high we hold fiercely to the rails and to the trunk of the mast, for this is the only earth we have. When the sea surface calms, when the wind only whispers, when the sun seems fixed in the heaven for eternity, we lie upon the deck, spread legs and arms to the soothing sky, and dream that rest may be permanent.
The wise man is he who knows that neither peace nor adversity is permanent any more than his own flesh is so. It is memory that lives and instructs in our time, and faith alone that endures forever.