All the world is made of music. We are all strings on a lyre. We resonate. We sing together.

Work and pray, live on hay, youll get pie in the sky when you die.

There's only room for one hero in this story-and everyone knows the devil doesn't get to be the good guy.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

I remind myself that no one day of writing matters all that much. A story is built somewhat like a stalactite - one little drip of mud and grit at a time.

Innocence ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know. Innocent little kids rip the wings off flies, because they don’t know any better. That’s innocence

He paused, twisting his goatee, considering the law in Deuteronomy that forbade clothes with mixed fibers. A problematic bit of Scripture. A matter that required thought. "Only the devil wants man to have a wide range of lightweight and comfortable styles to choose from," he murmured at last, trying out a new proverb. "Although there may be no forgiveness for polyester. On this one matter, Satan and the Lord are in agreement.