I get about five memoirs per week in my mailbox, and few of them inspire anything but a desire to pick up the channel changer.

Ten years, she's dead, and I still find myself some mornings reaching for the phone to call her. She could no more be gone than gravity or the moon.

I'm bred for farm work, and for such folk, the only A's you get come from effort. Strife and strain are all the world can offer, and they temper you into something unbreakable because Lord knows they'll try -- without let up -- to break you.

How much smaller the large places are once we're grown up, when we have car keys and credit cards.

When I got sober, I thought giving up was saying goodbye to all the fun and all the sparkle, and it turned out to be just the opposite. That's when the sparkle started for me.

I find a great deal of comfort and care in my faith and prayer. I'd sooner do without air than prayer.

I don't think I look like the pope's favorite Catholic - at least not under close scrutiny.