I think the world is an interesting place and I don’t think anybody has the firm and final answer to what it is but I kind of assume there’s a purpose.
Even in the darkest moments, light exists if you have the faith to see it. Fear is a poison produced by the mind, and courage is the antidote stored always in the soul. In misfortune lies the seed of future triumph.
A good dog is one of the best things of all to be.
Too much mystery is merely an annoyance. Too much adventure is exhausting. And a little terror goes a long way.
One of the underlying things I like to do in books, is just say, stop and look at this for a moment. Not that you’ve got to believe that Jesus was real, or not to believe in God, but the belief that it isn’t just happenstance.
When we don’t allow ourselves to hope, we don’t allow ourselves to have purpose. Without purpose, without meaning, life is dark. We’ve no light within, and we’re just living to die.
Cowards shrink from toil and peril, Vulgar souls attempt and fail; Men of mettle, nothing daunted, Persevere till they prevail.
There’s still a fascination with somebody who can write at book length, no matter what the book is.
Life is a train ride, and at the many stations along the route, people important to us debark, never to get aboard again, until by the end of the journey, we sit in a passenger car where most of the seats are empty.
Dare we linger, dare we skate? Dare we laugh or celebrate, knowing we may strain the ice? Preserve the ice at any price?
Wealth is power, and power is the only thing about which contemporary culture cares.
There’s never any humongous next draft. I know a writer who every time he finished a novel – you would know his name very well – but his editor would come and live with him for a month. And they would go through the manuscript together.
It was one of those rare times when remembering the dead was more inmportant than tending to the needs of the living.
What will happen will happen. There is time for miracles until there is no more time, but time has no end.
A fine line separates the weary recluse from the fearful hermit. Finer still is the line between hermit and bitter misanthrope.
But the more people we love and the more deeply we love them, the more vulnerable we are to loss and grief and loneliness.
I come down on the side of free will but I have sympathy for those who believe in fate because there is something about life which we feel we have no control over.
What really holds their marriage together are mutual respect of an awesome depth, a shared sense of humor, faith that they were brought together by a force greater than themselves, and a love so unwavering and pure that it is sacred.
How passionately we love everything that cannot last: the dazzling crystallory of winter, the spring in bloom, the fragile flight of butterflies, crimson sunsets, a kiss, and life.
Life without meaning cannot be borne. We find a mission to which we’re sworn -or answer the call of Death’s dark horn. Without a gleaning of purpose in life, we have no vision, we live in strife, -or let blood fall on a suicide knife.