“Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end.”

This is no time to talk of hedges and fields, or the beauties of any country.

Money is to make happy the lives of children. Money is for security, and for dreams, and for hopes, and for purposes.

One day in Johannesburg, and already the tribe was being rebuilt, the house and soul being restored.

I have one great fear in my heart, that one day when they are turned to loving, they will find that we are turned to hating.

Forgive us all, for we all have trespasses.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.

Money is for buying the fruits of the earth, of the land where you were born.

But perhaps when you were too obedient, and did not do openly what others did, and were quiet in church and hard-working at school.

And whether they do not see him there in the grass, or whether they fear to halt even a moment, but they do not wake him, they let him be.

Life has not taught me to expect nothing, but she has taught me not to expect success to be the inevitable result of my endeavors.

Fear is a journey,a terrible journey, but sorrow is at least an arrival.

There is not much talking now. A silence falls upon them all.

These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.

The Afrikaner has nowhere to go, and thats why he would rather destroy himself than capitulate.

Building on the mistakes of the past and the energy generated by reconciliation to create a new future.

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.

There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.

The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.

They were soon to emigrate to Canada, and the aerial ride was meant to be a last view of their beloved England.

I’m my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

If you wish to find Love, don’t look for the object of love but rather for the source of love. There you will find the Beloved.

In mutual love the lover not only wants the happiness of his beloved; but has an eye towards his own happiness also.