Why didn't my father get to give Mom the fairy tale? Why do most people fail to give each other the fairy tale?

Nobody knows anything when they are in their midtwenties.

Mom could make small things seem miraculous. That was her talent.

A skydiver, arrogant in his ability to navigate the heavens, rejects his fragile state and calls himself a God of the skies.

I have been both praised and criticized. The criticism stung, but the praise sometimes bothered me even more. To have received such praise and honors has always been puzzling to me.

We can often better help another by fanning a glimmer of goodness than by censuring his faults.

I guess if you're doing God's work, whatever you do is in His name.

At least tell me you won? And that the scratches and dings were totally worth it." "Of course. They're always worth it," he says with a hidden meaning that only the two of us could ever understand.

I rewrite everything, almost idiotically. I rewrite and work and work, and rewrite and rewrite some more.

If the Americans attack Iran for the first time in 1,400 years, we may unite Sunnis and Shias against us. So I guess there is room for accomplishment everywhere.

I hate click tracks. I'm to busy in the click track to feel my own heart rhythm, my own soul beat.

If you want to work consistently, you have to be a team player.

I've been an atheist ever since I heard there was only a stairway to heaven