God must have loved Afghans because he made them so beautiful.
Give it your all. Give it away. Your desires are being held in the hand of the cosmos with incredibly sturdy care. Life is not testing you. She is rooting for you.
You will always be too much of something for someone: too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy. If you round out your edges, you lose your edge. Apologize for mistakes. Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone - profusely. But don't apologize for being who you are.
Someone you haven't met yet is already dreaming of adoring you.
Knowing how you actually want to feel is the most potent form of clarity that you can have. Generating those feelings is the most powerfully creative thing you can do with your life. And not only do we have to put our feelings at the heart of our ambitions, we have to pursue our desires in a way that is life-affirming, rather than soul-depleting. Rigid goal-chasing is burning us out. Soul-anchored intentions are the way to get home.
Being your true self is the most effective formula for success there is.
When you decide to go after a new dream, you need to give less to your current reality and more to your desired reality. . . Take your energy out of what you don’t want to be doing anymore so you can put it in what you really want to be doing.
If Saddam's regime and survival are threatened [by invasion], he will have nothing to lose, and may use everything at his disposal. . . If weapons of mass destruction land on Israeli soil, killing innocent civilians, the experts I have consulted believe Israel will retaliate, and possibly with nuclear weapons. . . Nor can we rule out the possibility that Saddam would assault American forces with chemical or biological weapons.
A priest friend of mine has cautioned me away from the standard God of our childhoods, who loves you and guides you and then, if you are bad, roasts you: God as a high school principal in a gray suit who never remembered your name but is always leafing unhappily through your files.
The secret studies of an author are the sunken piers upon which is to rest the bridge of his fame, spanning the dark waters of oblivion. They are out of sight, but without them no superstructure can stand secure.
I know only enough of God to want to worship him, by any means ready to hand.