Writing fiction has developed in me an abiding respect for the unknown in a human lifetime and a sense of where to look for the threads how to follow how to connect find in the thick of the tangle what clear line persists.
Love is a portion of the soul itself and it is of the same nature as the celestial breathing of the atmosphere of paradise.
To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where...
A mother's arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.
One is not idle because one is absorbed. There is both visible and invisible...
There is no reciprocity. Men love women. Women love children. Children...
Loving, like prayer, is a power as well as a process. It’s curative....
The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
