The presence of God is the finest of rewards.

Oncoming death is terrible enough, but worse still is oncoming death with time to spare, time in which all the happiness that was yours and all the happiness that might have been yours becomes clear to you. You see with utter lucidity all that you are losing.

Words are cold, muddy toads trying to understand sprites dancing in a field-but they're all we have.

I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy. It goes for your weakest spot, which it finds with unerring ease. It begins in your mind, always. One moment you are feeling calm, self-possessed, happy. Then fear, disguised in the garb of mild-mannered doubt, slips into your mind like a spy.

How true is that necessity is the mother of invention, how very true.

Any writer will be happy and good only if they know what they're doing and why they're doing it.

You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.