I wouldn’t have thought of myself as someone who had much in common with a poor Methodist woman of the 18th Century, but I do.
I know exactly what she’s talking about, because I’ve felt the same way at times, looking out of my window on to Northern Boulevard in Flushing, New York and then up at the same moon she looked at three hundred years ago, my heart just full to bursting with joy.
It’s a beautiful world.
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