You weren't an accident. You weren't mass produced. You aren't an assembly-line product. You were deliberately planned, specifically gifted, and lovingly positioned on the earth by the Master Craftsman.

You will be at your best forever, Even now you have good moments. Occasional glimpses of your heavenly self. When you change your baby's diaper, forgive your boss's temper, tolerate your spouse's moodiness, you display traces of saintliness.

In the great orchestra we call life, you have an instrument and a song, and you owe it to God to play them both sublimely.

The trouble with competitors' sycophants is they don't know where to put their tongues. Here's a suggestion: Try behind your teeth. With your mouth shut.

No sociologist, for instance, should think himself too good, even in his old age, to make tens of thousands of quite trivial computations in his head and perhaps for months at a time.

For all the communities available to us, there is not one I would want to devote myself to, except for the society of the true searchers, which has very few living members at any time.