I’ve noticed that houses take on the personality of the people who live in them. I’m not sure how it happens, but they become alive in some way, as if they have their own spirit.

When God was making the months I think February was a mistake, like a burp. There it was, small, dark, and prickly. It had absolutely no redeeming qualities.

Fresh popcorn is near impossible to resist, second only to fresh doughnuts.

A fire hydrant is not something you want to lose, especially in an emergency.

There was something satisfying about swinging the hammer, hitting the nails, and fixing the porch. It made me feel strong. It made me feel powerful.

Being forgiven is like having all the worst bits of yourself stuffed into a balloon and then having that balloon set free.

Most folks probably think that gardens only get tended when they're blooming. But most folks would be wrong.

As babies we’re born blank sheets of paper. Not a single mark. As we grow older, lines form, then colors and patterns. Before long that paper is all sorts of brilliant. Like a kaleidoscope, no two exactly alike.

That's the funny thing about old people: they never seem in a hurry. I think old people have figured out that being five minutes late really doesn't matter much.

They don’t have classes on bravery in middle school. If they did I’d have signed up. It would have been helpful to learn how to stare down what I feared most and not blink.