Quotes from Ann Voskamp

Are stress and worry evidence of a soul too lazy, too undisciplined, to keep gaze fixed on God?

Every time I surrender to stress, aren't I advertising the unreliability of God?

When grief is deepest, words are fewest.

Comparison is a thug that robs your joy. But it's even more than that - Comparison makes you a thug who beats down somebody - or your soul.

What is time for if not to bless?

Get this, kids - how a man proposes isn't what makes him romantic. It's how a man purposes to lay down his life that makes him romantic.

God gives us time. And who has time for God?

The real romantics are the boring ones - they let another heart bore a hole deep into theirs.

All fear is but the notion that God's love ends.

You, who were made by Love, made for love-- be still and know and watch love come down.

Living radical isn't about where you live - it's about how you love.

You love as well as you are willing to be inconvenienced.

I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks the heavy perfume of wild roses in early July and the song of crickets on summer humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives.

By default, most of us have taken the dare to simply survive. Exist. Get through. For the most part, we live numb to life - we've grown weary and apathetic and jaded... and wounded.

Writing is this act of faith - a bit like driving in the fog: you can hardly see just in front of you. But you trust God's leading you and you just write into the space you can see ahead of you.

What if I gave thanks in the trouble, for the trouble, because the trouble is a gift that causes me to turn? What if I loved God not for His goods but for His love itself that is goodness enough?

Any kind of love that lacks the iron of the Cross in it, is anemic love.

God doesn't want your leftovers. God wants your love overtures, your first-overs, because He is your first love.

I fly to Paris and discover how to make love to God.

Love comes softly, it cannot be forced...cannot bear the weight of our expectations. Love always comes in the surrender - in the falling.

If I don't have words, it's a sign I'm not reading enough.

Scales always lie. They don't make a scale that ever told the truth about value, about worth, about significance.

Real Love truthfully sees the flaws - and still really loves fully.

Isn't falling in love always the fullest life?