I understood. I suffered. But whose sake was I suffering for? I kept thinking of Señor Saguaro's question: Whose affection do you value more, hers or the others'?

She was bendable light: she shone around every corner of my day.

When a stargirl cries, she sheds not tears but light.

Home is everything you can walk to.

She might be pointing to a doorway, or a person, or the sky. But such things were so common to my eyes, so undistinguished, that they would register as "nothing" I walked in a gray world of nothing.

This was the start of a period that blurs as I try to recall it. Incidents seem to cascade and merge. Events become feelings, fellings become events. Head and heart are contrary historians.

What she saw, she felt. Her eyes went straight to her heart.

And the trouble with bad times is, you can't sleep through them.

So distracting, so complete is she that she is gone before many realize that she had no escort, she was along, a parade of one.

So distracting, so complete is she that she is gone before many realize that she had no escort, she was alone, a parade of one.

I'm looking over a four-leaf clover that I overlooked before.

Some people react to suffering by denying the very possibility of God's existence

When you become a happier human being as a result of letting go of certain people or things, that's the universe's way of letting you know it was the right choice.

Handwriting enables civilization.

… between the irrational promoted in churches and the Darwinian pseudo-science taught in schools, a revolution in the way we understand reality is not only necessary but also long overdue.

And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death.

Tom Ridge announced a new color-coded alarm system. ... Green means everything's okay. Red means we're in extreme danger. And champagne-fuschia means we're being attacked by Martha Stewart.

I learned to never say never and never say no, so I decided to go pro. I knew I'd have an opportunity to be a defensive player in the NFL.

Beliefs are the eyelids of the mind.

Sometimes the presence of a camera is like opening a door, because many people want what Andy Warhol called "15 minutes of fame." But prostitutes don't want that.

The people who fear humor - and they are many - are suspicious of its power to present things in unexpected lights, to question received opinions and to suggest unforeseen possibilities.