In my impatience I become convinced that this desire of mine should have been fulfilled yesterday, when it belongs to a tomorrow that yesterday would have killed had I had my way.

If I can’t quite figure out what an ego is, all I have to do is look for the thing that’s killing itself in the very act of feeding itself.

It is the aversion to fear that kills the greatest of dreams. And until the aversion to the death of our dreams outpaces the fears that kill them, what we could achieve will only be a dream.

The death of our self-worth begins at its appraisal, for such an action erroneously implies that our worth can be quantified.

Be absolutely assured that we will die long before our own deaths if we ever allow the fear of adulthood to kill the wonder of childhood.

When it comes to what God’s doing in our lives, sometimes knowing everything kills everything. And if I kill everything, then knowing everything doesn’t matter.

We must leave Christmas to be what it is, for to reduce it to the stuff of myth and whimsy is take the single and sole hope of a dying humanity and obliterate it. And I would contend that such an action is insanity of the greatest sort.

To spin the tale with great flourish but never live the tale is the power of vision strangled to fiction by the fiction of fear.

At the very point that I’ve taken something for granted, I have at that same moment taken it to its grave. And if I look around, I realize I’ve cultivated quite a cemetery.