All other days have either disappeared into darkness and oblivion or not yet emerged from it. Today is the only day there is.

In New England, especially, [faith] is like sex. It's very personal. You don't bring it out and talk about it.

What makes you, in the deepest sense of the word, happy? That's what you should be doing, if the other part is also met - if it is something the world needs.

Faith in God is less apt to proceed from miracles than miracles from faith in God.

Your vocation lies in the intersection of the world's deep need and your deep joy.

I say, “You may be right, but don’t knock it until you’re tried it. Don’t say, ‘I think it’s worthless; therefore I’m not going to spend any time looking into myself the way one who prays does.'” Maybe that’s an even worse mistake than praying might be.

Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.