Becoming a writer does not mean words will suddenly flow with perfection from your pen. It takes hard work, rejection, and the willingness to lay everything inside you out for the world to see.

Lies are served like a fine delicacy. But beware, the truth of it all will sour, lodge in your throat, and choke your very existence if you continue to believe them.

Some want to be writers when life permits it. There is no part-time in being a writer. It’s an all-in way of living your life through words and feelings scratched out with a pen.

The same things that make you unique in this world, make you a target for the archers consumed by fear and jealousy.

Digging deep inside you as a writer will damn near kill you at times. But in the end, your words will be true and undeniable for the reader, and that is all that ever really matters in writing.

As a writer, a poet, you’re not alone in wanting to be alone. Your work is a friendship that never leaves you.

I was a poet. I had no expectations other than creating a world of art with words that would live on long after I was gone.

They say, poetry is dead. I say, was there ever a time they had a clue of what the state of poetry is?

Poets, with no sponsors, no agenda, are the truest form of freedom today, bleeding out every drop of themselves for the world to either hate or devour.

Each morning the winds of the city moan and weep with lost souls clinging to hope of reliving the memories of yesterday.

For the writer, madness should seep slowly out of them from the world they endure each day.

Positive thinking is the best gift that you can give to your mind, and the best part of it all, is that it is absolutely free.

It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

The role of the United Nations is to set the mental clocks of the world leaders from past problems to the present opportunities and from local power mindset to global welfare mindset.

Political liberty, the peace of a nation, and science itself are gifts for which Fate demands a heavy tax in blood!

Just in case God isn't dead, our astronauts carry sidearms.

London's tempo is 122.86 beats per minute.

I must dissent emphatically from any proposal to spend any money on preparing a statue of me, more especially at a time when people do not have enough food and clothing.

There is a pile of dead bodies behind the Mars Hill bus, and by God's grace, it'll be a mountain by the time we're done.

I enjoy the videos with the sound off, where you can look at the belly buttons and everything. Really some pretty girls, but I don't know about the music.

We are a thick skinned people with emtpy souls. We spend our days playing dice, chess, or sleeping - and we say we are the best people that ever came to mankind?