“I’m tired of being set upon by crazed Christians one minute and unbridled libertines the next. Girls, I’m going camping.”

We settled Mama into the wheelchair and loaded her down with both our pocketbooks and a vase of flowers I had picked to present to our host in hopes of softening the effects of any opinions Mama might vent during the evening.

It was no mean trick doing the wiring with those mittens on. But I managed it and crawled out, batting spiders into the shadows. I could hear a thud as they hit the floor joists, then a scuttling sound, then, worst of all, the silence of spiders.

When Mama starts to move across a room, people pay attention. You can never be sure she’s not going to grab you by the top of the head to steady herself. And she’s pretty free with that walking stick, too.

An outrageous instinct to love and be loved blinded your arms to lines of propriety

A Christian home! What a power it is to the child when he is far away in the cold, tempting world, and voices of sin are filling his ears, and his feet stand on slippery places.

My family background was deeply Christian.

Matt Hock was the first person who showed me how much fun and how cool it can be to be a Christian.

I’m a worldly angel, meaning I’ve adjusted to the ways of the world, even though I am a child of God. I wouldn’t consider myself a Christian rapper, but if we were Christian rappers, we would kill.

A heathen philosopher once asked a Christian, ‘Where is God’? The Christian answered, ‘Let me first ask you, Where is He not?’

Christianity is a pestilent superstition.

Christianity is a pestilent superstition.