It is just my imagination that flies, While she is wrapped up in her bedsheetslike a nest.

Hold your venomDo you recognise the instinctin me, fellow scorpion?

We wrote our names in the sandYou crossed mine out: I can't getback to the way I was.

If onlyyou could have witnessed howmuch I have changed: sit alonein a disused theatre and feel whatI have felt, see how the world hastransformed me, like the metamorphosisof a caterpillar.

Where is my oasis? Too far fromhere for me to crawl with thesedead legs, refusing to co-operateHands and fingers clawing uselesslythrough the grains of sand...

I fix the cramped, lined pageswith my curious stare. How do youcome to exist?

Live your best life.Live your dreams.

The secret of wealth is that workers are systematically underpaid.

To become a WRITER I had to learn to INTERRUPT, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then LOUDER, and then to just speak in my own voice which is NOT LOUD AT ALL.

Sometimes when I get home at night in Washington I feel as though I had been in a great traffic jam.

My mother was harsh and constantly told me I had jug ears and heaven knows what else. But she was devoted and a hard worker.

I always started a job with the feeling that I'd soon quit or be fired, and this gave ma a relaxex manner that was mistaken for intelligence or some secret power.

A Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being.

When we oppose the hidden conscience, it does us hurt. When we betray it, it judges us.

If we want to solve a problem that we have never solved before, we must leave the door to the unknown ajar.

There is nothing more universally commended than a fine day; the reason is that people can commend it without envy.