My grandmother had this high-tech security system - a rusty nail she used to lock the door.

Imagine what a harmonious world it could be if every single person, both young and old shared a little of what he is good at doing.

I don't remember feeling love.

Some summers my father would take us down to visit our grandmother in Louisville, who was an ex-slave, Susan Jones, and she had a shotgun shack they call it, and no electricity, a well in the back, a coal stove, kerosene lamps.

Everybody has their idiosyncrasies.

There's power in the collective. If you don't believe me, just watch a symphony orchestra with a conductor and 120 people who are thinking about exactly the same thing at the same moment - no babies, no stock markets, no mortgages. Just 32nd notes.

Let's not get too full of ourselves. Let's leave space for God to come into the room.