You don't tell anyone things like that about your friends, even when you're mad at them.

You might think what I tell you next is all a dream, or that I've imagined it. I can't help it if that's what you think, but I swear it's true. Sometimes the truest things are the hardest to believe.

Sometimes I can see colour without opening my eyes. I saw that Billy's heart was no colour and every colour. Like water or diamonds or crystals, it's pure and reflects the light.

I saw pearls in her mouth and the velvet cushion of her tongue and I heard the magic words come out of her.

I didn't understand right away what she meant. But her words soaked through my skull like warm oil, behind my eyes, down my spine and into the empty space inside me.

Maybe if the empty space inside her was filled with love there'd be no room for sad and dark things.

... I'll tell her about Tia. I'll tell her how beautiful she was and how brave. And I'll tell her the most important thing of all: that her mother loved her better than her life.

Sometimes it's better to live without a mother than not to live at all.

Then I kissed Max because I loved him, and everyone I had ever loved before had gone away and I had never kissed them goodbye.

I didn't know what to say when someone's given you a small free kiss in the dark ...

Through the night we drove in a tangle of waking and sleeping, nightmares from hell and holy white dreams.

What compels me to write now is the same as all those years ago. It is the love of writing and storytelling, driven by a desire to escape.

Life is a gift. Regard it as such. Return the blessing through each life you touch. Every seed planted, springs forth new birth. Allow your bouquet to cover the earth.

We children of schizophrenics are the great secret keepers, the ones who don't want you to think that anything is wrong.

The Arcadians were chestnut-eaters.

You can't give up! If you give up, you're like everybody else.

Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the oftener and more steadily we reflect on them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.

A human being sheds its leaves like a tree. Sickness prunes it down; and it no longer offers the same silhouette to the eyes which loved it, to the people to whom it afforded shade and comfort.

There are only four great arts: music, painting, sculpture, and ornamental pastry- architecture being perhaps the least banal derivative of the latter.

Coming out of BYU's football spring, 1999, practice: We might have a chance to be pretty good.

When we have great treasures before us, we can never see them.