It is as impossible for man to demonstrate the existence of God as it would be for even Sherlock Holmes to demonstrate the existence of Arthur Conan Doyle.

My prayer is spasmodic, occasional, desperate. It has a great deal to do with my children's physical well-being - that when they're traveling in the air the plane not crash, things like that.

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.

I loved rain for making home seem home more deeply, and I suspect that is why, from as far back as I can remember, I also loved those books I read and the people I met in them and the worlds they opened up to me. Like a house in the rain, books were havens of permanence and protection from whatever it was that as a child I needed protection from.

No words come easily to my lips. I think ultimately - what I like to think is that I'm in some sense hearing the mystery itself.

You can survive on your own; you can grow strong on your own; you can prevail on your own; but you cannot become human on your own.

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.