Even as fog continues to lie in the valleys, so does ancient sin cling to the low places, the depressions in the world consciousness.

I like to see a home like this, a home connected with people's thoughts and work, things they love.

I suppose any note, no matter how sour, sounds like a song if you hold onto it long enough.

I quite agree with you. The sun is not kind. God should use a rose amber spot.

What does one tell a husband? One tells him nothing.

I'm apt to get drunk on words...Ontology: the word about the essence of things

Memoir is not an act of history but an act of memory, which is innately corrupt.

... and Lynn is dead inside, like a corpse. She Instagrams methodically, clinically, as if she's gathering evidence for defense, like her entire life is dedicated to proving that she has a life.

I was a typical teen growing up in the 1960s, when everybody was into gurus and meditation.

Art is difficult, transient is her reward.

Phychical pain is more easily borne than physical; and if I had my choice between a bad conscience and a bad tooth, I should choose the former.

I do now most heartily desire to live but to exalt Jesus; to live preaching and to die preaching; to preach to perishing sinners till I drop down dead.

My grandfather used to say to me when I was a boy, "Getting knocked down is no big prize - it's getting up that's the real trick." I couldn't agree more.

Where humans are concerned, the only emotion that made sense was wonder, at their ability to endure.

If you happened to be born on third base, you didn't rub it in the face of the guy who wasn't even born in the stadium. Self-interest was generally checked at the door with your coat and hat.