We are the clay, and you are Michelangelo. And we will be your masterpiece.

Sometimes in my tent, late at night, I think I can hear the stars scraping against the sky.

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

But hope is no less realistic than despair. It is still our choice whether to live in light or lie down in darkness.

It isn't up to me to break his heart; that's time's job.

Still, you tend to believe what you always believed, think what you always thought, expect what you always expected

I brought Sammy inside and put him to bed. Said his prayer with him. “‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’” To me, just random noise. Gibberish. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I felt that, when it came to God, there was a broken promise in there somewhere.