“And every night before I went to bed, my mother would stroke my forehead, pat the dog who was cuddled in the crook of my knees, and ask, ‘Rikki, what are you thankful for today?’ And each night I would have to give that question some thought and find an answer.”

“What kind of dog is that?" I would always give the same answer: "She's a brown dog." Similarly, when the question is raised, "What kind of God do you believe in?" my answer is easy: "I believe in a magnificent God.”

“Nearly every night before I go to bed I ask myself, "Have I vibrated in tune with the Infinite today, or have I failed?”

“Of all the questions I have asked my readers this is the most important: What would you do if you weren't afraid? When you finally give wings to that answer then you have found your life's purpose.”

“My knee radiated heat. As I watched him pull himself from the car and walk casually across the brightly lit parking lot, I thought dumb things. I will never wash my knee again. I will never wash these jeans again. I will cut the knee out of these jeans and sew a pillow to sleep on every night, just to have a molecule of him in my bed with me.”

“My favorite random email I got was from some guy who wrote: "Mr. Max, with the hope of a six year old on the night before Christmas asking about Santa, I ask the same question: Do you really exist?”