If I sit for a while, then my impatience, crossness, frustration, are indeed annihilated, and my sense of humor returns.

On the other side of pain, there is still love.

It might be a good idea if, like the White Queen, we practiced believing six impossible things every morning before breakfast, for we are called on to believe what to many people is impossible. Instead of rejoicing in this glorious "impossible" which gives meaning and dignity to our lives, we try to domesticate God, to make his might actions comprehensible to our finite minds.

A community to be truly community, must have a quality of unselfconsciousness about it.

I am encouraged as I look at some of those who have listened to their "different drum": Einstein was hopeless at school math and commented wryly on his inadequacy in human relations. Winston Churchill was an abysmal failure in his early school years. Byron, that revolutionary student, had to compensate for a club foot; Demosthenes for a stutter; and Homer was blind. Socrates couldn't manage his wife, and infuriated his countrymen. And what about Jesus, if we need an ultimate example of failure with one's peers? Or an ultimate example of love?

if a book is not good enough for a grownup, it is not good enough for a child.

Our truest response to the irrationality of the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find truth.