I was at the annual meeting of a state library association a few years later, when the children were in the process of leaving the nest, and one of the librarians asked me, What do you think you and Hugh have done which was the best for your children? I answered immediately and without thinking, We love each other.

I am slowly coming to understand with all my heart as well as my head that love is not a feeling. It is a person.

Let's be exclusive' Charles Wallace said.

You don't know how lucky you are to be loved. Meg said in a startled way, I guess I never thought of that. I guess I just took it for granted.

On Camazotz we are all happy because we are all alike. Differences create problems. You know that, don't you, dear sister?

But if Hugh dies first, would I ever be able to stop saying, we and say I? I doubt it. I do not think that death can take away the fact that Hugh and I are we and us, a new creature born of the time of our marriage vows, which has grown along with us as our marriage has grown. Even during the times, inevitable in all marriages, when I have felt angry, or alienated, the instinctive we remains. And most growth has come during times of trial.

The lines of love cross time and space.

That's quite something, to be loved by someone like Mrs Whatsit.

And as long as there are even a few who belong to the Old Music, you are still our brothers and sisters.

It is the nature of love to create, and no matter what we do to creation, that love is still there, creating; in the young man who is holding his jacket closed across his chest; in you; in me.

Everything that we do either draws the Kingdom of love closer, or pushes it further off.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.