...after a few days at the desk, telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat.

I wish grace and healing were more abracadabra kind of things. Also, that delicate silver bells would ring to announce grace's arrival. But no, it's clog and slog and scootch, on the floor, in the silence, in the dark.

I said that I thought the secret of life was obvious: be here now, love as if your whole life depended on it, find your life's work, and try to get hold of a giant panda. If you had a giant panda in your back yard, anything could go wrong — someone could die, or stop loving you, or you could get sick — and if you could look outside and see this adorable, ridiculous, boffo panda, you'd start to laugh; you'd be so filled with thankfulness and amusement that everything would be O.K. again.

I'm one of those religious people who are afraid of everything. I'm instantly worried about everything that could go wrong.

Forgiveness means it finally becomes unimportant that you hit back.

Frequently, as so many poets and psalmists and songwriters have said, the invisible shift happens through the broken places.

Greasy food is so comforting when you are hungover.