I think that's a Roman saying; since I got it from a teen romance novel from waaaay way back I can't guarantee its verity. But it lodged itself in my memory well enough that I find the aptness of it in yesterday's events.
Lose a lover, find ...God
I wasn't seriously expecting to assist in a Mass but then I wasn't expecting to have to accompany my mom to a retreat house to speak with a priest. I wasn't in a state of grace but something came over me and I asked for absolution.
Can't handle the tools of communion without clean hands... metaphorically speaking.
It's going to be harder to write the Mammon stories now because the Writer character isn't exactly going to a happy place. It's hard to do that when you shouldn't be sinning in thought. And where the Writer's going, he'll be mired in a lot of sinning...
Lose a Lover Find a ...Family?
Mom went to that novitiate compound in Novaliches because she was bitten by the "Where do I come from?" bug. Turns out Mom's got a family that traces its roots to Spain. Damn, we even have a coat of arms. It makes sense, considering my bone-headedness and my misplaced chivalry... For someone who chucks dice and loads his poetry with medieval imagery, this lineage is quite a revelation.
Of course I tried to play it cool-- can't be too excited about a family who may not even recognize you. But then the character I played most memorably was a bastard son of a bastard branch of a noble family. I guess however these people receive my mom and me, I'll be right at home.