He's for us, He loves us, and sometimes, we need to just stop, enjoy His presence and take that in.
We rely too much on the people we share our lives with. We hold them responsible for things they are not even aware of. We start blaming them.
To read is to cover one's face. And to write is to show it.
I knew little, but at least I knew that: no one could speak for someone else. That although we might want to tell other people's stories, we always end up telling our own.
I was going to be a memory when I grew up.
Every story, every poem, every written piece is about belonging. There is a me, there is a we, there is an us, and we want to belong to it or we don't want to belong. You can read every story with this as its main focus.
I remember thinking, without pride of self-pity, that I was not rich or poor, that I wasn't good or bad. But that was difficult: to be neither good nor bad. It seemed to me, in the end, the same as being bad.
We thought the hard part was over—but we were wrong. Living is the hardest part. Figuring out how to live your life when you’re all busted up inside and out—there is nothing harder.
Drive him fast to his tomb. This, from Jacques.
I'm just trying to rid the world of all these fevered egos that are tainting our collective unconscious.
Prayer is not the cunning art of using God, subjecting Him to one's selfish ends in an effort to get out of Him what you want.