Life is the march of all things resurrected and being resurrected. Behind each flower, every tree, each nesting bird, every breath that we take, and every cherished dream that we hold there runs this irrepressible theme of resurrection. For life is not so shallow or weak or inattentive as to permit the finality of an end.

The darkness that follows a sunset is never so dark that it can change the inevitability of a sunrise.

What I liked about fishing at the break of day was to be a spectator to the whole of nature gently arousing itself from sleep. And it always seemed that part of that awakening was a fresh sense that this day was not ‘another day,’ for there is no such thing when the world awakens in this manner. Rather, every day was a ‘new day.

I don’t know that anything really new can be said about love, for something so imposing has long captured the attention and teased the words of untold millions, including myself. But in similar fashion, nothing new can be said of the struggle that I have to live it out in the way that I have so often written it out.

How many beginnings were held at bay because we refused to let an ending be an ending?

This is not a morning like any other because the world never wakes up exactly the same and neither do you. And so today you have opportunities like none other.

We want a fresh start only because we didn’t sufficiently care for the last fresh start.

Maybe the best way to think about something in a ‘new’ way is to believe enough in what we already know to actually act on it.

They are the pieces from which the whole is fashioned. But what I must remember is that the pieces aren’t there to reconstruct what they used to be before the pieces became pieces. They are there to construct something that is more than the sum total of whatever they used to be.