The war was just a mile or so away, and I wondered at my simply walking to it, as I might walk to the market or to school. Today I will walk to the war.

It is a grace that comes, unexpected, after tragedy- this reminder that most hearts are good.

That’s got to be at least one of the benefits of heaven – never having to act normal again.

Drop some of them bricks you keep hauling around with you. Life just ain’t that heavy.

But what is it that makes a person want to stay here on this earth anyway, and go on suffering the most awful pain just for the sake of getting to stay? I used to think it was because people fear death. But now I think it is because people can’t bear saying goodbye.

In November, people are good to each other. They carry pies to each other’s homes and talk by crackling woodstoves, sipping mellow cider. They travel very far on a special November day just to share a meal with one another and to give thanks for their many blessings – for the food on their tables and the babies in their arms.

It is odd how we sometimes deny ourselves the very pleasure we have longed for and which is finally within our reach.

When the wicked want to bring down the innocent, they aim for a loving heart.

I love being a writer because I want to leave something here on earth to make it better, prettier, stronger.

Every person is able to add beauty, whether by growing flowers, or singing, or cooking luscious meals, or raising sweet pets. Every part of life can be art.