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

He could hear trhe voices, the whispers, the sighs, of these souls who were unable to let go of their burdens. ... Pi understood this need to hold on. To let let go of his pain. It had become such a part of him. Who would he be without it? The thought frightened him. So he wandered the halls of the catacombs like the other souls who were half-dead and half-alive.

There are no coincidences. Just miracles by the boatload.

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.

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.

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.

...the person you encounter is often more than the person you see.