Dead … might not be quiet at all.

We may talk a good game and write even better ones, but we never outgrow those small wounded things we were when we were five and six and seven.

No one said living isn't a pretty chancy business, Sibyl. No one gets out of here alive.

The honest answer is more complex. On some level I was sent. Or inspired. Or called. But my calling, such as it was, wasn't a single booming invitation from above (really, is it ever?).

He defined himself almost wholly in the negative: It was not who he was, it was who he was not.

He recalls what that first German soldier said to his major: No God-not yours or mine-approves of what you're doing.

A single, ordinary person still can make a difference - and single, ordinary people are doing precisely that every day.