Prayers and promises. The one his sister made to him. The unspoken one I made to my sister. Prayers are promises, too, and these are the days of broken promises.

The doctor frowned upon drinking and often expressed wonderment at men who willingly made imbeciles of themselves.

You're mortal, and only a mortal can afford to be romantic. When we conquered death, we murdered love.

God doesn't call the equipped, son. God equips the called. And you have been called.

Perhaps God waits for us to be empty, so he may fill us with himself.

We'd stared into the face of Death, and Death blinked first. You'd think that would make us feel brave and invincible. It didn't.

Some things you can never leave behind. They don't belong to the past. They belong to you.