Pride is the rope God allows us all.

So thoughtlessly we sling on our destinies.

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

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

It is one thing to be sick of your own infirmities and another to understand that the people you love most are sick of them also. You are very near then to being friendless in the world.

Let me say something about that word: miracle. For too long it's been used to characterize things or events that, though pleasant, are entirely normal. Peeping chicks at Easter time, spring generally, a clear sunrise after an overcast week--a miracle, people say, as if they've been educated from greeting cards.

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.