I prayed hard and only gradually became aware that this fierce praying was a way of finding prologue and entrance into my own writing. This came as both astonishment and relief. When I thought God had abandoned me, I discovered that He had simply given me a different voice to praise the inexhaustible beauty of the made world.

She had awakened something in him that had slumbered far too long. Not only did he feel passion, he felt the return of hope.

The mind is an intricate mechanism that can be run on the fuels of both victory and defeatism.

I've never cackled with laughter at a single line I've ever written. None of it has given me pleasure.

Teach them the quiet words of kindness, to live beyond themselves. Urge them toward excellence, drive them toward gentleness, pull them deep into yourself, pull them upward toward manhood, but softly like an angel arranging clouds. Let your spirit move through them softly.

The only word for goodness is goodness, and it is not enough.

I wrote to explain my own life to myself, stories are the vessels I use to interpret the world to myself.