By making the place and the people and the feelings real, by the time someone closes the cover of one of my books, they have, hopefully, felt all of the emotions of life.

I cry to you, my Lord, my rock! Do not be deaf to me, for if you are silent, I shall go down to the pit like the rest. Hear my voice raised in petition as I cry to you for help, as I raise my hands, my Lord, toward your holy of holies.

How's it hangin' Harry? I keep trying to die, but they won't let me. Well, you can't have everything.

Now, she could't help but think he was just a big version of a jealous boy friend.

...his wartime experience had taught him to trust his instincts, even though he'd never been sure where they'd come from.

God, he suddenly understood, was love in its purest form, and in these last months with his children, he had felt His touch as surely as he had heard the music spilling from Ronnie's hands.

Who am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end?