You can't be too careful what you tell a child because you never know what he'll take hold of and spend the rest of his life remembering you by.

When someone we love suffers, we suffer with that person, and we would not have it otherwise, because the suffering and the love are one, just as it is with God's love for us.

Beneath our clothes, our reputations, our pretensions, beneath our religion or lack of it, we are all vulnerable both to the storm without and the storm within.

We find by losing. We hold fast by letting go. We become something new by ceasing to be something old.

What's lost is nothing to what's found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup.

Life is grace. Sleep is forgiveness. The night absolves. Darkness wipes the slate clean, not spotless to be sure, but clean enough for another day's chalking.

When a man leaves home, he leaves behind some scrap of his heart. . . . It's the same with a place a man is going to. Only then he sends a scrap of his heart ahead.