I write articles, and I do profiles of members of organizations and associations.

The stars looked like nail heads in the sky--pull a few of them out and the darkness would fall.

What was a life anyway? An accumulation of small shelves of incident.

The world does not turn without moments of grace. Who cares how small.

I write about what I know; and I write about things that are new to me, and that I didn't know before.

There's a part of me that thinks perhaps we go on existing in a place even after we've left it.

Even if people laughed at the notion of goodness, if they found it sentimental, or nostalgic, it didn't matter -- it was none of those things, he said, and it had to be fought for.