Quotes from Mitch Albom

This is your house, Reb. You are in the rafters, the floorboards, the walls, the lights. You are in every echo through every hallway. We hear you now. I hear you still. How can I—how can any of us—let you go? You are woven through us, from birth to death.

He explained how once we began to chime the hour, we lost the ability to be satisfied. There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day. The simple joy of living between sunrises was gone. "Everything man does today to be efficient, to fill the hour?" Dor said. "It does not satisfy. It only makes him hungry to do more. Man wants to own his existence. But no one owns time.

No one is born with anger. And when we die, the soul is freed of it.

Cuando eres malo contigo mismo te vuelves malo con todos los demás, incluso con aquellos a los que amas.

Quando sei un reietto, ti affezioni anche alle pietre che ti scagliano.

Because we embrace our scars more than our healing," Lorraine said. "We can recall the exact day we got hurt, but who remembers the day the wound was gone? "From the moment you woke up in that hospital, I was different with you, and you were different with me. You were sullen. You were mad. You fought with me constantly. You hated my restrictions. But that wasn't the real reason for your anger, was it?" Lorraine reached down and clutched Annie's fingers.

No one is certain who invented the telephone. Although the U.S. patent belongs to the Scottish-born Alexander Graham Bell, many believe he stole it away from an American inventor named Elisha Gray. Others maintain that an Italian named Manzetti or a Frenchman named Bourseul or a German named Reis or another Italian named Meucci deserves credit.

Sarah Lemon: "It just felt like... the end." Dor: "Ends are for yesterdays, not tomorrows.

It's amazing how folks can't see you, 'cause they want to keep you in that past.

But today is not yesterday, and the Reb could do nothing but listen to the worst imaginable words—We couldn't save her—told to him by a doctor he had never met before that night. How could this happen? She had been perfectly normal earlier in the day, a playful child, her whole life before her. We couldn't save her? Where is the logic, the order of life?

With each new carving, he spoke out loud. He was doing what man does when left with nothing. He was telling himself his own life story.

Some of our greatest problems in ministering to people is that they knew us back before we came to the Lord

Sometimes you sit in a cell and don't deserve it, Mr. Harding. Sometime it's the other way around

Our voices dissipated into the empty ocean night, and at that moment it was possible to believe we were the only people left on Earth.

That we are all connected. That you can no more separate one life from another

Love lost, is still love...You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory.

Can you even spell your great-great grandparent's names?

Did you ever hear a sermon that felt as if it were being screamed into your ear alone? When that happens, it usually has more to do with you than the preacher.

She wanted to melt into the ground at that moment, just hot wax into a puddle and disappear through a sewer grate. His eyes. That look. No interest. Total humiliation

Only an open heart will allow you to float equally between everyone … giving to people is what makes me feel alive … when I give my time … it's as close to healthy as I ever feel.

Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved

Holding anger is poison

That we are all connected. That you can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.

Parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorb the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.