We wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence.

The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring.

Johnston's books are beautifully written and among the funniest I have ever read.

Many writers do little else but sit in small rooms recalling the real world.

Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

You can serve or you can sing, and wreck your heart in prayer, working the world's hard work.

There is always the temptation in life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for years on end. It is all so self conscience, so apparently moral...But I won't have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous...more extravagant and bright. We are...raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus.