Without great mountains we cannot reach great heights.

My grandfather, a devout Christian, had the gift of healing.

I am a believer in angels, though not the picture-book kind with wings and harps. Such angelic accoutrements seem as nonsensical to me as devils sporting horns and carrying pitchforks. To me, angel wings are merely symbolic of their role as divine messengers.

Roses can grow in slums just as weeds can grow around mansions.

It's a shame that humans don't come with reset buttons.

Humanity is always looking for the next great world, the next frontier. I wonder how different this world would be if we were content with where we were.

. . .and every native has a story of winter – stories that usually begin, You call this a storm? And grow in the telling like battle tales shared by graying war veterans. It’s a peculiar character flaw to those of us from cold climates that we feel superior to those who have the sense to live elsewhere.