And wishes, truly wishes, that she could say the same herself. Because hurting herself would be so much easier.

Devon had been so lonely, so terribly lonely, for so long. The kind of lonely that sears, that burrows its way deep inside a heart and throbs. Like a gnawing hunger.

She can paint a lovely picture, but this story has a twist. her paintbrush is a razor, and her canvas is her wrist.

A pattern of raised crisscrossed scars, some old and white, others more recent in various shades of pink and red. Exposing the stress of the structure underneath its paint

Undeniable chemistry and horrific timing. They love each other.

There are basically two kinds of people: those who have empathy and care about others and those who don't. The ones who don't are creating most of the problems in the world.

Write the words on your heart.

Next time!" In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

Money isn't the most important thing. It is important, of course. I am not Mahatma Gandhi.

Love is the rehearsal of Paradise.

Because the more authentic we can be, the more impact we can have.

We need to infuse politics with ideas like compassion and empathy, and a sense that we live in an interdependent world.

The point is Obama didn't care that the jobs were leaving, folks!

I am automatically suspicious of things that wave their symbolism around and do little dances and bludgeon you over the head so that you [Darn] Well Know There's A Symbol Here.