Because we fail to listen to each other's stories, we are becoming a fragmented human race.

Sometimes when we aren't looking, the holiness comes breaking through like a rainbow.

I think that all artists, regardless of degree of talent, are a painful, paradoxical combination of certainty and uncertainty, of arrogance and humility, constantly in need of reassurance, and yet with a stubborn streak of faith in their own validity no matter what.

We find what we are looking for. If we are looking for life and love and openness and growth, we are likely to find them. If we are looking for witchcraft and evil, we'll likely find them, and we may get taken over by them.

But my memories are like a fire in winter—whenever I'm cold I can warm my hands at them. —Ditta

It's not my brain that's writing the book, it's these hands of mine.

To pray is to listen, to move through my own chattering to God, to that place where I can be silent and listen to what God may have to say.