from The School of Essential Ingredients, by Erica Bauermeister

"That's wonderful," said Abuelita when Lillian recounted the story to her the next day. "You made [your mother] remember her life. Now she just needs to reach out to it. That recipe," Abuelita said in answer to Lillian's questioning face, "must be yours. But you will find it," she continued. "You are a cook. It's a gift from your mother."

     Lillian raised an eyebrow skeptically. Abuelita gazed at her, gently amused.

     "Sometimes, nina, our greatest gifts grow from what we are not given."

from My Name is Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok

"That is where your pictures will hang in the spring," Anna Schaeffer said to me, pointing to the walls.
    I stared at her and felt a shock move through me.
   "I would have done it this year," she said. "But this old man would not let me."
   "He is still a boy this year," Jacob Kahn said. "A boy should not rush to make his soul naked."

from Daily Readings in the ABCs of Faith, by Frederick Buechner

Glory is to God what style is to an artist. A painting by Vermeer, a sonnet by Donne, a Mozart aria -- each is so rich with the style of the one who made it that to the connoisseur it couldn't have been made by anybody else, and the effect is staggering. The style of an artist brings you as close to the sound of his voice and the light in his eye as it is possible to get this side of actually shaking hands with him.