My reasoning, if one can call it that, was inflamed by the scatter shot passions of youth and a literary diet overly rich in the works of Nietzshe, Kerouac, and John Menlove Edwards.

The endless, agonizing recycling of what might have been, soon followed by a litany of rationalizations and self-deceptions as you struggle to reconcile the void between the person you want to be and the person you fear you are.

When I start any book, I have no idea what I'm going to do.

HAPPINESS is ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED

When you forgive, you love. And when you love, God’s light shines through you.

weeping...betraying a sense of loss so huge and irreparable that the mind balks at taking its measure.

The desert sharpened the sweet ache of his longing, amplified it, gave shape to it in sere geology and clean slant of light.