I have a secret goal with my editor - he has asthma and uses his inhaler, and after I send him a new manuscript, I'll have his assistant phone me and tell me how many times he had to get his inhaler out while reading a draft. It's my secret laugh meter.

...no way could I fall in love. I just couldn't go there yet. Settle for less. I didn't want to process through anything. I didn't want to pick up any pieces. Lower my expectations.

Our generation has had no Great Depression, no Great War. Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.

Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.

Don't do this. I love you. Don't shut me out.

No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.

The amazing miracle of death, when one second you're walking and talking, and the next second you're an object.