I thought of the pieces of me I'd left behind, a piece here, a piece there, scattered like bread crumbs. How much of me was left?

But what if hope had a threshold? What if there was a limit to it? What if each of us was only given a certain amount and mine was used up?

The world after a war is a good world, I told myself. A happy world. A secure world. In this world, I might do anything.

I'd rather be judged on what I can do instead of who I'm not.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve got plans for next Thursday. And I’m not in the mood to have them ruined by some apocalypse.

If we want to stay Happily in this world and also after world.Then make home But Not Only on the ground, make home in the heart

A good story is [a] kind of irritant. You read it, then you cannot stop thinking about it. Eventually, your mind and heart encyst about it, and what occurs is a pearl of the soul.

Who I am now is who I was before. The three years between, they were the aberration. You wouldn't recognize the person I became during that lost time. I barely do.

Why do otherwise sane, competent, strong men, men who can wrestle bears or raid corporations, shrink away in horror at the thought of washing a dish or changing a diaper?

You dont have a marriage problem, you have a sin problem.

Irrational crushes, infatuations, or obsessions. Whatever you want to label it, it's important to reach out to others.

I forgive everyone. There's no reason to hold anything against someone. Revenge is over with.

I would just love to create a bunch of patents, I have a book of 50 right now.

We all get self-centered.