The last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling-and it washed over me.

And that almost everyone was struggling to wake up, to be loved, and not feel so afraid all the time. That's what the cars, degrees, booze, and drugs were about.

I've known for years that resentments don't hurt the person we resent, but they do hurt us.

That thing you had to force yourself to do-the actual act of writing-turns out to be the best part.

People help you or you help them and when we offer or receive help, we take in each other. And then we are saved.

A big heart is both a clunky and a delicate thing; it doesn't protect itself and it doesn't hide. It stands out, like a baby's fontanel, where you can see the soul pulse through.

This is one thing they forget to mention in most child-rearing books, that at times you will just lose your mind. Period.