I had given up some youth for knowledge, but my gain was more valuable than the loss

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

Life is going to give you just what you put in it. Put your whole heart in everything you do, and pray, then you can wait.

When things were very bad his soul just crawled behind his heart and curled up and went to sleep

At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice.

To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision.

Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.

Language is man's way of communicating with his fellow man and it is language alone which separates him from the lower animals.

Few, if any, survive their teens.

It may be enough, however, to have it said that we survive in exact relationship to the dedication of our poets (include preachers, musicians, and blues singers).

Only men would think of cutting themselves to determine who the packleader is. Idiots.

The mutual practice of giving and receiving is an everyday ritual when we know true love.

If there is a God, it's going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.

My father was an immigrant from Russia and my mother was first generation.

Bill Powell is the only intelligent actor I've ever met

The rattle of plastic keys reminds me of a squadron of butterflies failing to fight their way out of a paper bag.

People will tell you that I overcame obstacles? Maybe. But the truth is I was incredibly blessed in my life. More was given than was ever taken away.

From the night, his solitude, the poet finds day and starts a diary that is lethal to the inert. The dark landscape yields a dialogue.

What are you gonna do if I break one of your *&^%$ing rules?

The main problem with solar on the Earth's surface is that it is so intermittent, and we don't have decent storage yet.