What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won't even stand close to the blade. I'm one of those. We don't bend anything.

A breeze shook rain out of new leaves onto their hair, but in their pursuit of eternity they never noticed the chill.

Lies are infinite in number, and the truth so small and singular.

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

Recall that whatever lofty things you might accomplish today, you will do them only because you first ate something that grew out of the dirt.

Pain reaches the heart with electrical speed, but truth moves to the heart as slowly as a glacier.

If you ask me, when something extraordinary shows up in your life in the middle of the night, you give it a name and make it the best home you can.