That's the day's business. Thinking. Thinking and isolation, because it doesn't matter if you pass the time of day with someone or not; in the end, you're alone. He seemed to have put in as many miles in his brain as he had with his feet. The thoughts kept coming and there was no way to deny them.

I changed it. I had to. Do you know why?" She studied him, her eyes grave. "Because that was then and this is now. Because the past is gone, even though it defines the present.

The late afternoon sunlight, warm as oil, sweet as childhood.

If God rewards us on earth for good deeds—the Old Testament suggests it’s so, and the Puritans certainly believed it—then maybe Satan rewards us for evil ones.

It's hard to make strangers care about the good things in your life.

He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts.

The quiet, singing voice of the rose. The song that promised all might be well, all might be well, that all manner of things might be well.