Now here's a good one: you're lying on your deathbed. You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?

Or - perhaps - I should just worry about my own behavior and let others be who they are.

It is very, very dangerous to come between a person and their beliefs.

Every year the hunters shot cows and horses and family pets and each other. And unbelievably, they sometimes shot themselves, perhaps in a psychotic episode where they mistook themselves for dinner

The question that haunted every investigation was 'why'.

How much more courage it took to be kind than to be cruel.

I've seen enough successful writers who no longer seem to care when they are recognized with an award, and I think that's just tragic.