Wake up now, look alive, for here is a day off work just to praise Creation: the turkey, the squash, and the corn, these things that ate and drank sunshine, grass, mud, and rain, and then in the shortening days laid down their lives for our welfare and onward resolve. There's the miracle for you, the absolute sacrifice that still holds back seed: a germ of promise to do the whole thing again, another time. . . Thanksgiving is Creation's birthday party. Praise harvest, a pause and sigh on the breath of immortality.

The happiest people are the ones with the most community.

It's the one thing we never quite get over: that we contain our own future.

I'm never going to tell the reader what to believe; I'm going to examine these characters that believe different ways, and examine their motives.

A dog can't think that much about what he's doing, he just does what feels right.

People's dreams are made out of what they do all day. The same way a dog that runs after rabbits will dream of rabbits. It's what you do that makes your soul, not the other way around.

Given my own circumstances, I find that anything can turn out to belong nearly anywhere.