No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.
Just the act of cooking made her feel better, because cooking was life.
People who try hard to do the right thing always seem mad.
Love didn't grow very well in a place where there was only fear
Women's lib, Frannie had decided, was nothing more nor less than an outgrowth of the technological society. Women were at the mercy of their bodies. They were smaller. They tended to be weaker. A man couldn't get with child, but a woman could---every...
In his memory there was a great tendency to downplay or completely forget their unlovable characteristics. [...] The thoughts that came wanted to be wholly good.
When certain seeds are planted, they nearly always grow.
That wasn't any act of God. That was an act of pure human fuckery.
There’s always a choice. That’s God’s way, always will be. Your will is still free. Do as you will. There’s no set of leg-irons on you. But... this is what God wants of you.
It don't matter if you believe in God Nick, he believes in you.
She was satisfied with the answer God had given Moses from the burning bush when Moses had seen fit to question. Who are you? Mose asks, and God comes back from that bush just as pert as you like: I Am, Who I AM. In other words, Mose, stop beatin aro...
Every man or woman who loves [God], they hate Him too, because He's a hard God, a jealous God, He Is, what He Is, and in this world He's apt to repay service with pain while those who do evil ride over the roads in Cadillac cars. Even the joy of serv...
The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want for nothing. He makes me lie down in the green pastures. He greases up my head with oil. He gives me kung-fu in the face of my enemies. Amen
By the time he was done with the deer it had been dark three hours and his bad leg was singing 'Ave Maria'.
The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there...and still on your feet.
His name is Legion. He is the king of nowhere.
Call me Richard. That’s my real name. Call me that.
He died with his tie on. Do you think that could be our generation’s equivalent of that old saying about dying with your boots on? Harry Blakemoor died with his tie on. I like it, Larry.
