I think a lot of the history we've read up to this point, some of it is just off. It's written with the same prejudice that certain networks have when they report the news of the day.

God is the color of water. Water doesn't have a color.

I asked her if I was black or white. She replied "You are a human being. Educate yourself or you'll be a nobody!

You have to choose between what the world expects of you and what you want for yourself.

Writing for me is cutting out the fat and getting to the meaning.

First person narrative is a very effective tool but you have to know as a writer how to make it work.

If you have the material it will form itself as a kind of connective tissue.

People don't realize you're blowing over changes, time changes, harmony, different keys. I mark a point in my solo where it's got to peak at point D I go to A, B, C D then I'm home.

I come to the understanding that maybe what was on the inside was more important, and that your outer covering didn't count so much as folks thought it did, colored or white, man or woman.

I put headlights in Ford vans. I still drive a Ford.

It is hard to find romance in the present because there's nothing left to the imagination.

Three or four times, I have had the great death but my life is lived in the million tiny moments that make up the one dance

You soon know the difference between a real newspaper and an electronic one as soon as a fly won't leave you alone.

Careful with your life.

I'd rather make less money and live in a just world.

I'm just in that stage where I pray for God to show me how I can be effective in the world and things come up and I go. But I have yet to really dig in.

The problem with books, now that I've written one, is that the idea of adaptation is so much easier than sitting down to write something new.

Very often, (in near-death experiences) the person encounters a divine or angelic being. This may be described as Christ, an angel, even God.

Whether it's simply some fierce animal joining of mates or a sublime merging of souls, she is mine, and I am hers.

I tell ya, I was an ugly kid. I was so ugly that my dad kept the kid's picture that came with the wallet he bought.

Sometimes I feel that a more rational explanation for all that has happened during my lifetime is that I am still only thirteen years old, reading Jules Verne or H. G. Wells, and have fallen asleep.