I'm a buried kind of beautiful.Bring a shovel and a shooting starI may be a night's work.

The death of a dream is the day that you stop believing in the work it takes to get there.

Baba and I lived in the same house, but in different spheres of existence. Kites were the one paper-thin slice of intersection between those spheres.

As we grow older, it becomes difficult to just believe. It's not that we don't want to, but too much has happened and we can't.

Life is paradoxical, but I believe that I could also be the same person I am today, if life would have cut me with happiness instead of pain.

In choosing a hypothesis there is no virtue in being timid. I clearly would have been burned at the stake in another age.

Jesus didn't come to make us Christian. Jesus came to make us fully human.

Living in the world without insight into the hidden laws of nature is like not knowing the language of the country in which one was born.

Finally, my biggest failure of 2014: Once again not securing the #‎ disclosure of the UFO files.

I would never become an alcoholic like my father because my father deserted us. But diseases, there's no let up.

He spoke, and loos'd our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth.