As for my next book, I am going to hold myself from writing it till I have it impending in me: grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear; pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.

Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.

Hardly anybody recognizes the most significant moments of their life at the time they happen.

I don't have to tell you that the one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has been erased like a blackboard, only to be rebuilt and then erased again. But baseball has marked time while America has rolled by like a procession of steamrollers.

... plunged into chance, --that is to say, swallowed up in Providence

Tea time is a chance to slow down, pull back and appreciate our surroundings.

So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their endings.

O God give us serenity to accept what cannot be changed courage to change what should be changed and wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

We truly live only one day at a time. It doesn't really help to worry about the future, which we can't control, or the past, which we can't change.

There's a cardinal rule in book publishing that applies equally to brain surgery and auto mechanics: "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Since people are still buying the original Where Is God When It Hurts?

I relish the sense of being alone with nature, knowing that of all people in the world only I am hearing these sounds in this place. The tranquil mood feels vaguely religious, what I should be feeling in church but rarely do. In