Anne Lamott

I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.

The earth is rocky and full of roots; it's clay, and it seems doomed and polluted, but you dig little holes for the ugly shriveled bulbs, throw in a handful of poppy seeds, and cover it all over, and you know you'll never see it again - it's death and clay and shrivel, and your hands are nicked from the rocks, your nails black with soil.

Your experiences will be yours alone. But truth and best friendship will rarely if ever disappoint you.

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.