“She tells me life is a story. We can make it a Harlequin romance, a mistery, a memoir. We can make it pamphlet-size or an ongoing series."I want mine to be exceptional", she says.”

“He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious. He was a punk, she did ballet, what more can I say. He wanted her, she wouldn't tell, but secretly she wanted him as well”

“A people are as healthy and confident as the stories they tell themselves. Sick storytellers can make nations sick. Without stories we would go mad. Life would lose it’s moorings or orientation... Stories can conquer fear, you know. They can make the heart larger.”

“. . . our stories are what make the difference, and if we can tell them honestly we can hope to help each other. In the end, we have nothing to offer each other but our stories.”

“Let’s try it,” he said. “This is serious,” she said. “You could get hurt. Or die.” “But if we can touch, that means we can make out, right?” he asked. “Maybe.” “You want me to risk my life for maybe?” He grinned.”

“There is no ongoing spiritual life without this process of letting go. At the precise point where we refuse, growth stops. If we hold tightly to anything given to us, unwilling to let it go when the time comes to let it go or unwilling to allow it to be used as the Giver means it to be used, we stunt the growth of the soul. It is easy to make a mistake here, “If God gave it to me,” we say, “its mine. I can do what I want with it.” No. The truth is that it is ours to thank Him for and ours to offer back to Him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of – if we want to find our true selves, if we want real life, if our hearts are set on glory.”