I Made Some Friends For Life, The

It Wasn't That I Had Gotten It Right . . . But That I Had Gotten True.

Passion Is Something You Really Don't Miss, After It Has Cooled. It Is Like Looking At An Empty Bottle On The Side Of The Road And Thinking, "boy, I Wish I Had A Coke." The Loves You Miss Are The Ones That Go Away When They Are Still Warm, Even Hot, To The Touch.

I Began Reading Harper Lee's Novel In The Skimpy Shade Of A Pine Outside My Grandmother's House, Fat Beagles Pressing Against Me, Begging For Attention, Ignored. At Dark, I Kept Reading, First On The Couch, A Bologna Sandwich In One Hand, Then In My Bed, By The Light Of A 60-watt Bulb Hanging From The Ceiling On An Orange Drop Cord. When My Mother Came In From Her Job As A Maid And Unplugged My Chandelier, I Replayed The Story In My Head Until It Was Crowded Out By Dreams. I Woke The Next Morning, Smelling Biscuits, And Reached For The Book Again.

This Is A Place Where Grandmothers Hold Babies On Their Laps Under The Stars And Whisper In Their Ears That The Lights In The Sky Are Holes In The Floor Of Heaven.

Every Life Deserves A Certain Amount Of Dignity, No Matter How Poor Or Damaged The Shell That Carries It.