I love to get books, because I love to read.

The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask It's hard to see the pain behind the mask Bearing the burden of a secret storm Sometimes she wishes she was never born

In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero, I am strong and wise, and I know no fear, but the truth is plain to see, she was sent to rescue me, I see who I want to be, in my daughter's eyes.

Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world.

I grew up in the country surrounded by music.

I am happy that women can relate to my songs, and hopefully men can too.

Baby, I've tried to find a place inside your heart. Oh, but it's hard to start a fire without a spark.

I think we should all be tolerant of each other and embrace each others' strengths and differences and uniqueness and beauty.

Every show, every audience is different, and I just love leaving the venue feeling like we all know each other a little bit better.

I believe everything in moderation. But breakfast is important. I have two hard-boiled or scrambled eggs with whole-wheat toast and try to get some fruit in there.

I listen to music I'm looking to record or catch up on news and TV, whatever is on the TV at the gym!

Alongside the practical thought something else struggled and, like an escaped butterfly, took wing: the assurance of something wonderful awaiting her. Just around the corner......

God breaks, molds, shapes & fills U not 1ly for U to be blessed but to make U a blessing 2 al even UR foes, remember HE LOVED YOU WHEN YOU WERE HIS ENEMY.

Please stop putting quotes from Nietzsche at the end of your emails. Five years ago you were laughing your guts out over American Pie 2. What — suddenly you’ve magically turned into Noam Chomsky?

I think when you're a writer most of what you read influences you. The rhythms get into your head.

If you're in the best team in the world, you or your teammate have to win.

George W. Bush loves golf because it's like the election--low score wins.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?

In cheerful souls there is no wit. Wit shows a disturbance of the equipoise.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be.

Tell this imprisoned soul that it will never be owned. Nothing will ever own you. But God.