I love putting the music together. It's like art

Peace and Blessings manifest with every lesson learned. If your knowledge were your wealth then it would be well earned.

Be you. Make sure you're saying something when you're saying something. It's important to sound like you, to feel like you, to be like you. Be you.

The light always shows on the outside if you are striving to be good on the inside.

I'm only in competition with my last level.

I live in a queendom, ruled by a womb-iverse.

Following your heart also means eliminating the things that no longer evolve you.

I think people who vibrate at the same frequency, vibrate toward each other. They call it - in science - sympathetic vibrations.

They play it safe, are quick to assassinate what they do not understand. They move in packs, ingesting more and more fear with every act of hate on one another.

I'm a recovering undercover over-lover.

I create my own calm and I keep my balance, because I know that it's not really me, by myself... The Creator always gives me the energy.

Snow flurries began to fall and they swirled around people's legs like house cats. It was magical, this snow globe world.

Making music and art is about expressing something that's universally human, maybe even beyond human, at best.

I don't mean to make you nervous, but unfortunately I have to.

What were the glories of the sun, if we knew not the gloom of darkness?

I don't want to die before Will Smith 'cause then I miss that awesome 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' marathon.

...He palmed up the life Alert. Death Alert was more like it: Help, I haven't fallen and I'm standing up-can you come and rectify this problem? - Isaac

Clothes became my attraction and obsession early. I wasn't so interested in dressing myself because I was not my object of desire.

Capitalism has given people both the liberty and the incentive to create, produce, and trade, thereby generating prosperity.

Go away, dig a hole, do something else, come back and it magically rejuvenates your creative impulses and stuff.

The clock tick-tocked, solemn and profound. It might have been the dry pulse of the decaying house itself, after a while it whirred and cleared its throat and struck six times.