. . . Harboring an emotion as powerful as gratitude has power of its own.

Dance. Dance for the joy and breath of childhood. Dance for all children, including that child who is still somewhere entombed beneath the responsibility and skepticism of adulthood. Embrace the moment before it escapes from our grasp. For the only promise of childhood, of any childhood, is that it will someday end. And in the end, we must ask ourselves what we have given our children to take its place. And is it enough?

Raising or caring for children requires sacrifice and service, which, I believe, heals us from the destructive forces of self-centeredness.

People can become so blinded by their own perceived victimhood that they make victims of everyone around them.

To deny our pasts is to burn the bridge we must cross to self-understanding.

I have learned that real angels don't have gossamer white robes and Cherubic skin, they have calloused hands and smell of the days' sweat.

There are two kinds of suffering in this life. That which pursues us and that which we doggedly pursue.