I guess what I want to learn is how to live in this world and enjoy its delights but also devote myself to God.

A true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

I've never seen any life transformation that didn't begin with the person in question finally getting tired of their own bullshit.

Tis' better to live your own life imperfectly than to imitate someone else's perfectly.

Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be.

I'm choosing happiness over suffering, I know I am. I'm making space for the unknown future to fill up my life with yet-to-come surprises.

This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something.

There's always another level up. There's always another ascension. More grace, more light, more generosity, more compassion, more to shed, more to grow.

You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight.

Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend.

If you're going to answer the call and you're going to transform and you're going to change, get ready. It is not a day at the beach.

A true man will treat a woman how she treats herself, you can't expect to be a queen when your disrespecting your own crown.

I think that most artists scorned would prefer to be known as the one with the genius brain risking no career over the one with the good brain and great career.

Holy Men! Holy Cabbages! Holy Bean Pods! What do they do but live and suck in sustenance and grow fat?

I feel vulnerable every single time I step into a classroom. I feel completely exposed.

For our hope in the future is cosmic, forging human history into eternity.

Too weird to live, and too rare to die.

My heart is, and always will be, yours.

In a free country there is much clamor, with little suffering; in a despotic state there is little complaint, with much grievance.

In a lethal world, poetry is necessary for survival.

Mondays are just like Sam from Clarissa Explains it All. They just show up through the damn window whenever the hell they feel like it.