But if you seek forgiveness, doesn't that automatically mean you cannot be a monster? By definition, doesn't that desperation make you human again?

My brother believed in all sorts of mythical creatures: pixies, dragons, werewolves, honest men.

The person may have a scar, but it also means they have a story

be a good listener, don't judge and don't put boundaries on someone else's grief.

History isn't about dates and places and wars. It's about the people who fill the spaces between them.

When a freedom is taken away from you, I suppose, you recognize it as a privilege, not a right.

But that's what love is, isn't it? When it hurts you more to see someone suffer than it does to take the pain away?

The only monsters I have ever known were men.

If you had to pack your whole life into a suitcase-not just the practical things, like clothing, but the memories of the people you had lost and the girl you had once been-what would you take?

If you end your story, it's a static work of art, a finite circle. But if you don't, it belongs to anyone's imagination. It stays alive forever.

But sometimes, in order to win, you have to make sacrifices.

There I was, casually wishing that I could stop existing in the same way you'd want to leave an empty room or mute an unbearably repetitive noise.

We all make mistakes but one has to move on.

May all you affirm and believe be given the opportunity to manifest - day by day.

In China, you've got six people buying for one child. But the thing is, you've got the largest rising upper-middle class in the world.

I don't really chase trends and fads because they are fleeting.

I could depend a lot on my shaking, though I never shimmied vulgarly and only to express myself.

You only find your Teacher once in many lifetimes. Never be afraid to see them and meditate with them. Your Teacher always understands and always forgives.

I'm now beginning to feel that the pessimistic vision is not for the movies.

The body of the earth is of the nature of a fish... because it draws water as its breath instead of air.

Nasturtiums, who colored you, you wonderful, glowing things? You must have been fashioned out of summer sunsets.