When I look at each of my brothers, I see two things. First, I see the next place I want to leave a rosy welt. Second, I see a good man who will always be there, no matter how hard life gets for me or him. Then, I get out of the way because I realize he's coming at me with a wet dish towel.
Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply.
Blessed is the servant who loves his brother as much when he is sick and useless as when he is well and an be of service to him. And blessed is he who loves his brother as well when he is afar off as when he is by his side, and who would say nothing behind his back he might not, in love, say before his face.
It snowed last year too: I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.
Brothers don't necessarily have to say anything to each other - they can sit in a room and be together and just be completely comfortable with each other.
I, who have no sisters or brothers, look with some degree of innocent envy on those who may be said to be born to friends.
I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds All the world's loves in its unworldliness.
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