If you ask people what attracted them to the person they love, they never tell you of some perfect feature that focused them on sheer surfaces but rather an imperfection that allowed them to see into their uncharted depths.

You don't love someone because they're perfect," she says. "You love them in spite of the fact that they're not."
I don't know how to respond to that; it's like being told after thirty-five years that the sky, which I've seen as a brilliant blue, is in fact rather green.

Some men see things as they are, and ask why. I dream of things that never were, and ask why not.

Love isn't finding a perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly.

The seminary of the future must relate itself to flesh-and-blood men, or it provides a framework that only talks about the people of God but never really shares life with them.

You aren't allowed to ask at auditions, legally, a person's race.