I always tell people that I became a writer not because I went to school but because my mother took read more

I always tell people that I became a writer not because I went to school but because my mother took me to the library. I wanted to become a writer so I could see my name in the card catalog.

We breathe, we think, we conceive of our lives as narratives.

We breathe, we think, we conceive of our lives as narratives.

Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. read more

Let us remember that the Christmas heart is a giving heart, a wide open heart that thinks of others first. The birth of the baby Jesus stands as the most significant event in all history, because it has meant the pouring into a sick world of the healing medicine of love which has transformed all manner of hearts for almost two thousand years... Underneath all the bulging bundles is this beating Christmas heart.

Christmas is here:
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
read more

Christmas is here:
Winds whistle shrill,
Icy and chill,
Little care we:
Little we fear
Weather without,
Sheltered about
The Mahogany-Tree.

Christmas is not a date. It is a state of mind.

Christmas is not a date. It is a state of mind.

Writing is like walking in a deserted street. Out of the dust in the street you make a mud pie.

Writing is like walking in a deserted street. Out of the dust in the street you make a mud pie.

God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;
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God rest ye, little children; let nothing you affright,
For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this happy night;
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay,
When Christ, the Child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas Day.

How bless'd, how envied, were our life,
Could we but scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd read more

How bless'd, how envied, were our life,
Could we but scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on Turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days:
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the savory chine;
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on every board.

I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

I'll publish, right or wrong: / Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.