A poor self-image is the magnifying glass that can transform a trivial mistake or an imperfection into an overwhelming symbol of personal defeat.

Assert your right to make a few mistakes. If people can't accept your imperfections, that's their fault.

Confronting your fears and allowing yourself the right to be human can, paradoxically, make you a far happier and more productive person.

You feel the way you do right now because of the thoughts you are thinking at this moment.

When two people respect each other, the ability to be vulnerable and to reveal hurt feelings can create a powerful emotional connection that is the source of real intimacy and friendship.

Perfectionism becomes a badge of honor with you playing the part of the suffering hero.

Forgive yourself and be ready to forgive yourself in the future. You're gonna screw up. It's okay.

Learn to accept your limits and you'll become a happier person.

Kindness is the cause of all anxiety.

You don't have to do anything especially worthy to create or deserve self-esteem; all you have to do is turn off that critical, haranguing, inner voice.

Apologies do make a difference. Believe it or not, research shows people often prefer them over money.

What a difficult thing it is to ask someone's advice on a matter without coloring his judgment by the way in which we present our problem.

I do believe that painting can change the world.

Leadership is the special quality which enables people to stand up and pull the rest of us over the horizon.

My mom wore the pants in the family, for sure. I always say, that I spent my childhood trying to get the love and attention of my mom, and now I can't get rid of it.

Beware of losing what isn't in your head.

Love never claims, it ever gives.

Real talent shines through regardless of how many others there are around you.

Know how to listen, and you will profit even from those who talk badly.

We ask for long life, but 'tis deep life, or noble moments that signify. Let the measure of time be spiritual, not mechanical.

What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?