We hope to high heaven that (the accidents) start to go down, Playgrounds are safer than they were.

Accidents happen at night. They come around the curve and flip it, and they wind up in my driveway or across the street.

Everyone's been so nice. It's heaven.

At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.

With every year that I grow older, I also draw closer to (my loved ones) to the day when we will once again be together. So I march through the deepening shadows, serene and unafraid, because I know that at the end of my journey they will be waiting for me.

When I die, I hope to go to Heaven, whatever the Hell that is.