There comes a morning in life when you wake up a new person; that is to say, you wake up the same person but you realize it's your own fault.

I like friends who, when you tell them you need a moment alone, know enough not to stray too far.

My eyesight's gone, my reflexes are shot, and I can't stay awake, but thank God I can still drive.

Shall I redirect my life's journey because down some side road might be some trifle I'm entitled to?

Every great painting is left incomplete at the point where its completion is obvious.

The mind, as you age, Is an artist, it seems. Monet paints your mem’ries, Picasso your dreams.

If indeed the death of a child is part of a larger plan, you wonder if God ever considered a smaller plan.