I have the sense that if I push too hard or too far into memory I’ll come apart.

God is an immensity, while this disease, this death, which is in me, this small, tightly defined pedestrian event, is merely and perfectly real, without miracle—or instruction.

I look upon another's insistence on the merits of his or her life - duties, intellect, accomplishment - and see that most of it is nonsense.

It is like visiting one's funeral, like visiting loss in its purest and most monumental form, this wild darkness, which is not only unknown but which one cannot enter as oneself.

Memory, so complete and clear or so evasive, has to be ended, has to be put aside, as if one were leaving a chapel and bringing the prayer to an end in one's head.

I am in an adolescence in reverse, as mysterious as the first, except that this time I feel it as a decay of the odds that I might live for a while, that I can sleep it off.

Public radio is alive and kicking, it always has been

Death and I are head to head in a total collision, pure and mutual distaste.

Being ill like this combines shock - this time I will die - with a pain and agony that are unfamiliar, that wrench me out of myself.

True stories, autobiographical stories, like some novels, begin long ago, before the acts in the account, before the birth of some of the people in the tale.

I feel sorry for the man who marries you... because everyone thinks you're sweet and you're not.

Sometimes it's easier to tell ourselves a story.

The afternoon light brightening the green in her eyes, her tan skin the last memory of fall

To him, who still would gaze upon the glory of the summer sun, there comes, when that sun will from him part, a sullen hopelessness of heart.

Millions of people are going to come to Jesus.

Nothing fools people as much as extreme passion.

I started acting, almost on a whim to help my music career.

Something's moving, something's changing. See His glory feels like heaven on earth.

Certainly the people who are close to me are happier. They feel freer.

To develop working ideas efficiently, I try to fail as fast as I can.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.