Human beings can always be relied upon to exert, with vigor, their God-given right to be stupid.
I always thought happiness was a choice and I always chose things that made me happy, and books were one of those.
The heart is an artist that paints over what profoundly disturbs it, leaving on the canvas a less dark, less sharp version of the truth.
We never had books in the house. Not any book in our house. Not a Bible, not anything. So, I would go the library from a very young age and get the books out.
If dogs talked, one of them would be president by now. Everybody likes dogs.
Hope is the destination that we seek. Love is the road that leads to hope. Courage is the motor that drives us. We travel out of darkness into faith.
Dogs are one of those things that make you happy and make you wonder.
If we were always conscious of the fact that people precious to us are frighteningly mortal, hanging not even by a thread, but by a wisp of gossamer, perhaps we would be kinder to them and more grateful for the love and friendship they give to us.
A scar is not always a flaw. Sometimes a scar may be redemption inscribed in the flesh, a memorial to something endured, to something lost.
None of us can ever save himself; we are the instruments of one another’s salvation, and only by the hope that we give to others do we lift ourselves out of the darkness into light.
No one can grant you happiness. Happiness is a choice we all have the power to make.
The less depth a belief system has, the greater the fervency with which its adherents embrace it. The most vociferous, the most fanatical are those whose cobbled faith is founded on the shakiest grounds.
Every life is complicated, every mind a kingdom of unmapped mysteries.
Time doesn’t, as advertised, heal all wounds. Although the wrenching immediacy of grief eventually passed, the settled sorrow that replaced it might in its own way be even more intense.
I enjoy the hell out of writing but don’t like what follows: promotion and publicity, which I always strive to keep to a minimum, sometimes to my publisher’s dismay.
The opportunity to love a dog and to treat it with kindness is an opportunity for a lost and selfish heart to be redeemed. They are powerless and innocent, and it is how we treat the humblest among us that surely determines the fate of our souls.
That’s all that matters, really: that we can make each other feel better.
I never have lunch because it makes me foggy-headed.
Sometimes there is no darker place than our thoughts, the moonless midnight of the mind.
One of the greatest gifts we receive from dogs is the tenderness they evoke in us.