I hate desks; they make me feel like a child doing homework.

The great thing about a short story is that it doesn't have to trawl through someone's whole life; it can come in glancingly from the side.

The world is always changing brightness and hotness and soundness, I never know how it's going to be the next minute.

Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing.

I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened.

Ma's still nodding. "You're the one who matters, though. Just you." I shake my head till it's wobbling because there's no just me.

It’s called mind over matter. If we don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” When a bit of me hurts, I always mind.

Books are the air I breathe, so I don't notice the seasons.

If I was made of cake I'd eat myself before somebody else could.

I remember manners, that's when people are scared to make other persons mad.

When I tell her what I’m thinking and she tells me what she’s thinking, our each ideas jumping into the other’s head, like coulouring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.

All I can tell you is that at the end, there's nothing left but love.

You are doing better than you think you are.

..This is why the ultimate reason of things must lie in a necessary substance, in which the differentiation of the changes only exists eminently as in their source; and this is what we call God.

It is only when our characters and events begin to disobey us that they begin to live.

At this point of time in history, I don't think that women in any work force that's a male-dominated work force have the same rules to play or live by as men do.

I saw all the suffering that Kurt Cobain went through. I saw this real vibrant person turn into a real shy, timid, withdrawn person.

In the particular presence of memorable language we can find a reminder of our ability to know and retain knowledge itself: the brightness wherein all things come to see.

Sometimes I think that all anyone needs in life is lots of popcorn and a few Lovelies

I consider music to be very sacred and I feel I'm blessed to be born with a talent which allows me to make the best of it.

When she read just now to James, 'and there were numbers of soldiers with kettledrums and trumpets,' and his eyes darkened, she thought, why should they grow up, and lose all that?