Is there a single person on whom I can press belief? No sir. All I can do is say, Here's how it went. Here's what I saw. I've been there and am going back. Make of it what you will.

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

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

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

We see a newborn moth unwrapping itself and announce, Look, children, a miracle! But let an irreversible wound be knit back to seamlessness? We won't even see it, though we look at it every day.

Routine is worry's sly assassin.

My sister, Swede, who often sees to the nub, offered this: People fear miracles because they fear being changed--though ignoring them will change you also. Swede said another thing, too, and it rang in me like a bell: No miracle happens without a witness. Someone to declare, Here's what I saw. Here's how it went. Make of it what you will.