Feeling insignificant because the universe is large has exactly the same logic as feeling inadequate for not being a cow.

When we die, these are the stories still on our lips. The stories we’ll only tell strangers, someplace private in the padded cell of midnight. These important stories, we rehearse them for years in our head but never tell. These stories are ghosts, bringing people back from the dead. Just for a moment. For a visit. Every story is a ghost.

Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater than your idol.

There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.

Not, not mine: it's somebody else's wound; I could never have borne it. So take the thing that happened, hide it, stick it in the ground; whisk the lamps away.

Obviously, personal responsibility is important. But there's no evidence that people who are poor are less ambitious than anyone else. In fact, many work long hours at backbreaking jobs.