I write small poems— the kind that fit on a postcard… and still can break your heart

...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 ...

...I retreat into my fictional world where everything makes sense - but even there I can't even control what people do...

...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...

... here's what I believe - sometimes God has a Plan B...

when you are doubt with someone on how they feel don't pretend that you know what they were thinking, never assume yourself as you know how they feel when you really not at their shoes at all.

The internet: always proving that you're not quite as special as you suspected.

What is being called the UN 'gender architecture' is more like a shack. Women need a bigger global house if equality is ever to become a reality.

I do not believe the American people are going to confuse hatred for passion.

It is good to be a cynic - it is better to be a contented cat - and it is best not to exist at all.

And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox.

Talking over the things which you have read with your companions fixes them on the mind.

A feminist is a man or woman who already knows for a fact that men and women are qual and wants society to wake up to that fact, so the world can stop operating at half-strength.

Sorrow was made for man, not for beasts; yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they become no better than beasts.

Every one of my books had killed me a little more.