Love is a strange fact - it hopes all things, believes all things, endures all things. It makes no sense at all.
Let me say something about that word: miracle. For too long it's been used to characterize things or events that, though pleasant, are entirely normal. Peeping chicks at Easter time, spring generally,...
It is one thing to be sick of your own infirmities and another to understand that the people you love most are sick of them also. You are very near then to being friendless in the world.
Is there a single person on whom I can press belief?No sir.All I can do is say, Here's how it went. Here's what I saw.I've been there and am going back.
Good advice is a wise man’s friend, of course; but sometimes it just flies on past, and all you can do is wave.
Fresh peach pie can lift a bullying reprobate into apologetic courtesy; I have watched it happen.
Do you know who is up at four in the morning? Dairy farmers. Paperboys. Lunatics.
Real miracles bother people, like strange sudden pains unknown in medical literature. It's true: They rebut every rule all we good citizens take comfort in. Lazarus obeying orders and climbing up out...
Not anymore—not exactly. If I’d had more words, I’d have described Greenstone’s last operational motel, the Voyageur, a peeling L-shaped heap with scraggy whirlwinds of litter roaming the parking lot....
My weary old ground was broken and watered, and what sprang up was a generalized longing.
Is there a single person on whom I can press belief?No sir.All I can do is say, Here's how it went. Here's what I saw.I've been there and am going back.Make of it what you will.
I wouldn’t say that. Shad’s a good man. Better than most of us, maybe. But he’s … I shut my eyes, looked for adjectives, and could come up only with not reliable, a choice I instantly regretted. Shad...
I was drawn on. Conscious now that something needed doing, I moved ever higher on the land. Here entering an orchard of immense and archaic beauty. I say orchard: The trees were dense in one place, sc...
I made a fist and held it out. It didn't look like much—not like a fist anyone would count on for protection. If war came seeking a person I loved, that undernourished fist was not going to be enough....
You know how it is—you grow up with a story all your life, it can transmute into something you neither question nor particularly value. It’s why we have such bad luck learning from mistakes.
Of all facial expressions, which is the worst to have aimed at you? Wouldn't you agree it's disgust?
It’s peculiar, to reach your destination, he told me. You think you’ll arrive and perform the thing you came for and depart in contentment. Instead you get there and find distance still to go.
Avoiding my eyes he said a rumor had started that I didn’t make it, that I died in the lake, so he drove out to where it happened and sure enough someone had hung a twist of flowers on the torn fence....
A cowboy doesn't ask for much, that's my observation. A flashy ride, a pretty girl, momentary glory...
You can’t kill history. You can’t shoot it with a bullet and watch it recede into whatever lies outside of memory. History is tougher than that—if it’s going to die, it has to die on its own