I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.

We and the world, my children, will always be at war. Retreat is impossible. Arm yourselves.

Fair is whatever God wants to do.

Sometimes heroism is nothing more than patience, curiosity, and a refusal to panic.

Real miracles bother people, like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature.

You can embark on new and steeper versions of your old sins, you know, and cry tears while doing it that are genuine as any.

So thoughtlessly we sling on our destinies.