...I've decided ... love is an eternity of slow motion replays ...

...some nights I'd sneak out and listen to the radio in my Dad's old Chevy - children need solitude - they don't teach that in school...

...the wet brush of snowflakes was like your kisses everywhere ...

...no good writing flows from a polluted well - you can write about monsters, but you can't be one...

...I don't just wish you rain, Beloved - I wish you the beauty of storms...

...true love is an irrevocable act - you can only give your heart away once - after that, you give as much as you have left ...

...wherever there is society, there is authority and the temptation to disobedience because our individual wills refuse to submit...

...you think so logically...like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically...like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth...

...you fantasize about me reading my poems to you - it doesn't work that way - I write down everything later - living is not an after-thought...

...if you always move in certainty, your writing will be flat - creativity is a rugged terrain...

...is worship too strong a word? yes, I worship you - to worship is to give worth to something – isn’t that what love is all about?...

Marriage union goes beyond the actual ceremony. It goes beyond intimacy and remains a solid foundation for happiness

The second direction of prayer lies in us addressing our own circumstances and changing them ourselves

Them as can do has to do for them as can't. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices.

My mom was a problem solver.

You can be true to the character all you want but you've got to go home with yourself.

I love Paris for its wide boulevards and cafes, and Rome for the ancient history, as seen at the Forum.

The only sport I really get into is snowboarding. Cause that's the only sport where they perform a half pipe just after smoking a full pipe.

Different races never fazed me because coming from Bethnal Green, I'd been around people of different races forever. Different class? That was much harder.

Money writes books, money sells them. Give me not righteousness, O Lord, give me money, only money.

What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves To wash it white as snow?