Fair is whatever God wants to do.

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

Hope is like yeast, you know, rising under warmth.

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.

Good advice is a wise man's friend, of course; but sometimes it just flies on past, and all you can do is wave.

Love is a strange fact - it hopes all things, believes all things, endures all things. It makes no sense at all.

Real miracles bother people, like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature. It's true: They rebut every rule all we good citizens take comfort in. Lazarus obeying orders and climbing up out of the grave - now there's a miracle, and you can bet it upset a lot of folks who were standing around at the time. When a person dies, the earth is generally unwilling to cough him back up. A miracle contradicts the will of the earth.