A woman who will be like a rock in a riverbed, enduring without complaint, her grace not sullied but shaped by the turbulence that washes over her.

She was an old woman now, and her life had become memories.

Mmmm life has treated her well

[My grandmother] was so humble of heart and so gentle that her tenderness for others and her disregard for herself and her own troubles blended in a smile which, unlike those seen on the majority of human faces, bore no trace of irony save for herself, while for all of us kisses seemed to spring from her eyes, which could not look upon those she loved without seeming to bestow upon them passionate caresses.

It hadn't shocked the old woman, not much. She had got past being shocked early in life.

Woman has suffered for eons, and that has given her infinite patience and infinite perseverance.

Now Hilda, she was your bog standard old woman.

An old woman with a mutch sat in an arm-chair behind the counter. She looked up at me over her spectacles and smiled, and I took to her on the instant. She had the kind of old wise face that God loves.

She was a woman who, between courses, could be graceful with her elbows on the table.

The heart of a woman who loves will forgive many blows.

And so she lived ... hopefully ... ever after.

She was brave from excess of grief

She survived whatever happened;
she forgave; she became.

She seldom bothered taking revenge. Time did that for her, eventually.