Suddenly, details seemed extremely important. Details were something to grab on to, a way to insert myself into the story.

It's the thinking that gets you killed.

Tell me about your family," I said. And so she did. I listened intently as my mother went through each branch of the tree. Years later, after the funeral, Maria had asked me questions about the family - who was related to whom - and I struggled. I couldn't remember. A big chunk of our history had been buried with my mother. You should never let your past disappear that way.

I think we hear a lot of talk about college, and we don't hear about early education.

Miracles happen quietly every day - in an operating room, on a stormy sea, in the sudden appearance of a road side stranger. They are rarely tallied. No one keeps score.

There is a big confusion in this country over what we want verses what we need...you need food. You want a chocolate sundae.

How do people choose their final words? Do they realize their gravity? Are they fated to be wise?