I do believe in the power of prayer. I do. And I believe in the power of human kindness.

You ask me to forgive you? I’m thanking you. You finally loved me in that moment, and that love set me free, released me from my sworn duty.

For a writer, it seems a help rather than a hindrance to be at least a little crazy. Who but a crazy person would carve out a very private, quiet place in the world, only to pour his/her innermost thoughts and emotions onto a page for the entire world to examine? Even in fiction, we give a map to our most secret feelings. Why do writers do it? Perhaps because we'd be crazier still if we didn't.

The needs are too great, and there are too few of us. We have a duty, a responsibility to help others. It’s not all about fun. It’s not always easy.

It’s the season. We share what we’ve got.

There is no boundary between heaven and earth unless we believe in one.

Her laughter changed her voice from wind chimes to the jingling of sleigh bells.

You can’t really, truly love a thing. Love is only possible between beings or groups of beings. Love of a thing doesn’t work because it can’t love back.

Hero love?” I was puzzled. “You know. The kind of love you have for someone you want to be like: Marines, astronauts, cowboys, teachers, big brothers, that sort of thing. You love them because they represent the you that you want to be.