prayer is nothing more than thought. It is a yearning of the heart.

When I'm having trouble I write by hand. There is some connection between the mind and the fingers that draws out words.

no one who has seen an angel ever mistakes it for a ghost. Angels are remarkable for their warmth and light, and all who see them speak in awe of their irridescent and refulgent light, of brilliant colors, or else of the unbearable whiteness of their being. You are flooded with laughter, happiness.

So loving is the universe, so joyful, so determined to give us everything we need and to love us and show us the way to live, too, that we are beaten to the ground, boiled by God's waves, as we play in the surf.

A guest at a dinner party observed the strange expression on James Thurber's face. 'Don't be concerned,' said Thurber's wife. 'He's writing.'

Where do you put your attention? On fear or love? I wish the choice were made just once and not repeated every moment of the day.

A shiver runs down your spine when you realize it is not our imagination. Something is watching us out there.