Heaven is always and forever around us and no soul remembered is ever really gone.

I had a very high-grade publisher tell me I was incapable of writing a memoir.

He almost told her everything right then, that very moment. But you grab a moment, or you let it pass. He let it pass.

All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped.

And in that line now was a whiskered old man, with a linen cap and a crooked nose, who waited in a place called the Stardust Band Shell to share his part of the secret of heaven: that each affects the other and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.

...You can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back.

As mankind grew obsessed with its hours, the sorrow of lost time became a permanent hole in the human heart. People fretted over missed chances, over inefficient days; they worried constantly about how long they would live, because counting life’s moments had led, inevitably, to counting them down. Soon, in every nation and in every language, time became the most precious commodity.