Today is the best day I could ever have.
The life of a woman may be divided into three epochs; in the first she dreams of love, in the second she makes love in the third she regrets it.
And just as there are no crimes so detestable that they can prevent the gift of grace, so too there can be no works so eminent that they are owed in condign [deserved] judgment that which is given freely. Would it not be a debasement of redemption in Christ’s blood, and would not God’s mercy be made secondary to human works, if justification, which is through grace, were owed in view of preceding merits, so that it were not the gift of a Donor, but the wages of a laborer?
No one is sanctified except him who is united to the Church.
So much in writing depends on the superficiality of one's days. One may be preoccupied with shopping and income tax returns and chance conversations, but the stream of the unconscious continues to flow undisturbed, solving problems, planning ahead: one sits down sterile and dispirited at the desk, and suddenly the words come as though from the air: the situations that seemed blocked in a hopeless impasse move forward: the work has been done while one slept or shopped or talked with friends.
Fiction is sort of a way to set the record straight, and let people at least believe that justice can be achieved and the right outcomes can occur.
Doubt tempers belief with sanity.
Zac Efron would make us feel guilty for eating big dinners. He'd say, 'Do you really want to eat those carbs?' It was like, 'Thanks a lot!'