There are few things as seemingly untouched by the real world as a child asleep.

If we live long enough, we become caricatures of ourselves.

When I was still in prep school - 14, 15 - I started keeping notebooks, journals. I started writing, almost like landscape drawing or life drawing. I never kept a diary, I never wrote about my day and what happened to me, but I described things.

You don't have to be in the habit of going to church to listen to such a literary minister; you don't have to be a believer to be moved by Mr. Buechner's faith.

Rituals are comforting; rituals combat loneliness.

This is a writer’s lesson: To learn that the sounds that we imagine can be the clearest, loudest sounds of all.

I don't want you to describe to me—not ever—what you were doing to that poor boy to make him sound like that; but if you ever do it again, please cover his mouth with your hand.