The impersonal hand of government can never replace the helping hand of a neighbor.

The soul hardly ever realizes it, but whether he is a believer or not, his loneliness is really a homesickness for God.

What the soul hardly realizes is that, unbeliever or not, his loneliness is really a homesickness for God.

He accepted new ideas as readily as new trends. Knowing those worth it would last and the lessers will pass.

I don't know anymore, whether it's a curse or a blessing to see the beauty in the ugly. Growing up simply and getting old complexly. I now see reason behind sin, and love behind pain.

The scribbles in my notebook are a reflection of you. Every line holds your name. Every paragraph a feature of yours I love. Each page is a memory of moments that took my breath away. Of times when I laughed more than my lungs would allow. My notebook is full, but I always knew only one would hardly contain all of you.