It’s been a long time since I met a smelly girl. How do they do that? I know they aren’t born that way, but it seems that they can run three miles and still smell like flowers or fruit.

A good book is worth reading twice. And the older you get, the more it seems like the first time you read it.

Humility in the beginning keeps me from having to say I was wrong, or I’m sorry later on.

I can’t remember a hundred things I worried about yesterday, but my stomach sure does.

With some girls it is better to just say no at the beginning.

I love bars. I love my towel bar and my toilet bar, I love my bar of soap and my candy bars. But I can’t imagine that the God who created Adam to work in the garden, and the Eve of his life, created me to sit in bars and drink away the hours.

If I had to pick a season to miss in any given year, I could choose winter. All the snow, worrying about driving, not wanting to get out of bed because it is warm under the covers. I could choose spring too. Sometimes it seems like winter fades right into summer anyway. I like trees full of green rather than budding, and most flowers smell better in summer. I could choose summer too. Those hot days when you can hardly breathe and sleeping at night is only attempted if you have an air conditioner. You wake up and you are already sweating. But I couldn’t miss fall.

A new meaning for soul music. Music that reaches inside you and plays some special, magical instrument in there so that your hair stands on end and your heart might just soar out of your chest.

Have you ever noticed how everything bad for you tastes really good, but how a few hours later you feel icky?

Steamed vegetables still taste like vegetables. Somehow I thought they would taste better. Like better than vegetables.

I like things that don’t seem to last. Tans. Summer nights. Fresh cut grass. Good movies. A long slow dance. Weddings. The tingles. Sweet kisses. Dinner at new restaurants. Laughter. That moment of waking naturally. Dusk when the crickets are chirping. Cool breezes on hot days. Songs that stir my spirit. Every day.

© Seth Crossman