Secrets. We think by keeping them, we're controlling things, but all the while, they're controlling us.
Secrets, Charley, my mother whispered. They'll tear you apart.
Sarah watched the man sitalongside other homeless clients.Despite their awful circumstances, theywere going on with life, getting throughit as best they could.
Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices.
Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices. A mother works so her son can go to school. A daughter m...
People think of heaven as a paradise garden, a place where they can float on clouds and laze in rivers and mountains. But scenery without solace is meaningless.
People often ask what I miss about Morrie. I miss that belief in humanity. I miss the eyes that could view life so encouragingly. And I miss his laugh. I really do.
People are only mean when they’re threatened, he said later that day, and that’s what our culture does. That’s what our economy does. Even people who have jobs in our economy are threatened, because t...
Parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorb the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged li...
Only God can write the end of your story.God has left me alone, Dor said.The old man shook his head. You were never alone.
One of my disciples, a lanky saxophonist named Sonny Rollins, played his horn for three years on a bridge in New York City, his tender jazz melodies wafting between the traffic noises. I would pause t...
No story sits by itself, Sometimes stories meet at corners and sometimes they cover one another completely, like stones beneath a river.
My grandparents did these things. My parents, too. If I take the pattern and throw it out, what does that say about their lives? Or mine? From generation to generation, these rituals are how we remain...
Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas. He jotted down his thoughts on yellow pads, envelopes, folders, scrap paper. He wrote bite-sized philosophies about living with death’s shadow: Accept what...
Mitch, he said, the culture doesn’t encourage you to think about such things until you’re about to die. We’re so wrapped up with egotistical things, career, family, having enough money, meeting the mo...
Mitch, that's what faith is. If they spit in your face, you say it must be raining. But you still come back tomorrow.
Mitch, it is impossible for the old not to envy the young. But the issue is to accept who you are and revel in that. This is your time to be in your thirties. I had my time to be in my thirties, and n...
Miracles happen quietly every day - in an operating room, on a stormy sea, in the sudden appearance of a road side stranger. They are rarely tallied. No one keeps score.
Love wins, love always wins.
Love lost, is still love...You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory.