I was hooked on writing. I mean, where else can you get paid for sticking your nose into somebody else's business?

I wondered if a blessing is still a blessing if it lasts for only a little while.

Why is it I'm always so quick to believe that people are thinking...believing the worst about me?

When people's emotions are involved they don't want to listen.

Like the Bible tells us, when a man will lay down his life for a friend, well, then there ain't no greater love in this here world than that.

The world is not a rational place.

Even if you forget everything else I want you to always remember that you are a person of value, and you have a friend who loved you enough to give you his most valued possession.

And marking off time struck me as something like counting empty spaces—spaces you know can't ever be filled.

I love Arkansas but I think Arkansas has its share of unlit minds.

Fun, like champagne bubbles, can't completely fill you up.

Longevity can't be the only test of love.

Maybe...in a way, this coffee reminds me of something. Maybe...maybe only a philosopher or a mad man would make this connection, but it's a little like life. I mean it's powerful going down and that doesn't even take into account the aftertaste, which really takes getting used to.

It seems to me that a man who is incapable of humor is capable of cruelty.

It was like that. Sometimes I'd go for a period—days or weeks—without feeling the full sweep of my loss, and then as unexpected as a thunderclap, the realization would rip the protective coating from my senses. Maybe that's the way it is with trick knees and aging griefs. Totally pain free one moment and absorbingly painful the next.