This will be Great Mam's last spring. Her last June apples. Her last fresh roasting ears from the garden.

A choir of seedlings arching their necks out of rotted tree stumps, sucking life out of death. I am the forest's conscience, but remember, the forest eats itself and lives forever.

you can't really know the person standing before you, because always there is some missing piece

Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say.

Every betrayal contains a perfect moment, a coin stamped heads or tails with salvation on the other side.

All of the promises of politicians, generals, madmen, and crusaders that war can create peace have yet to be borne out.

...whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. And peace will be with you.