Your father died for me, and dying with you would be an honor, though not as great as dying to save you.

Tom had traveled around the sun eleven times when the delivery truck brought his mother's newest fridge, but a number doesn't really describe his age.

Imagine a poem written with such enormous three-dimensional words that we had to invent a smaller word to reference each of the big ones; that we had to rewrite the whole thing in shorthand, smashing it into two dimensions, just to talk about it. Or don’t imagine it. Look outside. Human language is our attempt at navigating God’s language; it is us running between the lines of His epic, climbing on the vowels and building houses out of the consonants.

Self-loathing and self-worship can easily be the same thing. You hate the small sack of fluids and resentments that you are, and you would go to any length, and betray anything and anyone, to preserve it.

Your life is your own, your glory is your glory, but you will lose it if you keep it for yourself. Grasp it for the sake of others.

Do not fear the shadowy places. You will never be the first one there. Another went ahead and down until He came out the other side.

We are narrative creatures, and we need narrative nourishment-nar rative catechisms.