Katherine Reay

The day we forget the horror, Sam, we will repeat it. Never forget your past. It will make you less human, less than human.

How can I not believe that there is a God who exists and loves, when the people before me are infused with that love and pour it out daily?

Artists create things that point us to beauty, to truth, to God.

While I don't believe in love at first sight, because I think it takes more work than that, I do believe that one soul can speak to another and find an inexplicably deep connection over a short period of time, unimaginably short, and know that it will never forget that soul, that moment, or the light it emits forever.

People forget your face after a book tour or an infrequent appearance on Letterman, but put your face on your books and you're handing them your life. They presume to know what you think or who you are.

Love spills out of these people. That's what I want. Settling for anything less is a lie.

Maybe that's what love is__acrificing yourself to save another, taking the insult or taking the hit.

I closed my eyes to hug him tighter and give him that elusive feeling of unconditional love and complete safety. The feeling we seek but, in this life and in this world, perhaps never quite find.

He reminds me of a comfortable sweater that you pull on, knowing it will keep you warm every time.

We didn't talk much, and the silence hung like a silk curtain, light and lovely.

Honesty is easier when you have no face and no real name. And honesty, for me, is very easy on paper.