The oldest trick in the world is to be swallowed.

We don't have enough ways to talk about love.

My nephew, two years old, follows me outside. He brings me yogurt in a leaf. A blade of grass is a sandwich. I “eat” each one, toss it behind my back; he doubles over laughing. He hands me a stone. “What is it?” I ask. “A stone,” he says. I eat the stone. Sometimes, truth is stranger then make-belief.

“Look how small God has become,” the priest says, bre…