There are no coincidences. Just miracles by the boatload.

Finding your way doesn't mean you always know where you're going. It's knowing how to find your way back home that's important.

Who would dream that one can love without being crushed under the weight of it?

Memories were like sunshine. They warmed you up and left a pleasant glow, but you couldn't hold them.

Maybe the world wasn’t made of universals that could be summed up in neat little packages. Maybe there were just people. People who were tired and hurt and lonely and kind in their own way and their own time.

There are no coincidences. Just miracles by the boatload.

I'd heard of really bad things Klan folks did to Negroes. Mean, hateful, deadly things. I didn't know they were hateful toward white folks too.