The sight of a palm tree silhouetted against the sky made even his life feel like a movie

dragonflies circled me, the sun knifing off the brilliant blues and yellows of their bodies.

Years later, I remember the waxy taste of the yellow paint, the papery taste of splintered wood, the sharp metallic of the graphite.

I remember a new heaviness in my body, but maybe that's the work of time and my looking back.

So we gave up. I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be seen. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.

Seek respect not attention.

...If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum...

In the word question, there is a beautiful word - quest. I love that word.

If I relegate impossible Salvation to the prop room, what remains? A whole man, composed of all men and as good as all of them and no better than any.

But we have nothing of the Spirit except through regeneration. Everything, therefore, which we have from nature is flesh.

Speak to the suffering, and you will never lack an audience. There is a broken heart in every crowd.

Finding clothes in the South was impossible.

I'm an instant responder. Somebody told me I'm a living Twitter. I'm quick to respond and quick to fill air.