You can’t kill history. You can’t shoot it with a bullet and watch it recede into whatever lies outside of memory. History is tougher than that—if it’s going to die, it has to die on its own

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

Routine is worry's sly assassin.

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.

Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Nokes demanded…. “What do you have for directions?” And Dad… said, “I have the substance of things hoped for. I have the anticipation of things unseen

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

Fresh peach pie can lift a bullying reprobate into apologetic courtesy; I have watched it happen.