Maybe the devil in human beings isn't the reflection of the devil, perhaps the devil is only a reflection of the savagery and brutality of our kind. Maybe what we've done is create the devil in our own image

Sometimes it seemed that the human heart, this side of Eden, feared life more than death, light more than darkness, freedom more than surrender.

Every life is complicated, every mind a kingdom of unmapped mysteries.

Literary fiction, as a strict genre, is all but dead. Meanwhile, most genres flourish.

But the more people we love and the more deeply we love them, the more vulnerable we are to loss and grief and loneliness.

Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as deep meditation and almost as good for the soul as prayer.

Too much mystery is merely an annoyance. Too much adventure is exhausting. And a little terror goes a long way.