It's funny how things seem different, suddenly.

Once, this whole world had been hidden beneath a shallow sea.

You can't stop time. You can't capture light. You can only turn your face up and let it rain down.

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones.

After all these years, I feel so free. Who knows where I might fly?

No one could suspect the intricate mysteries of her heart.

Away from the bright motion of the party, she carried her sadness like a dark stone clenched in her palm.

It seemed there was no end at all to the lies a person could tell, once she got started.

He'd kept this silence because his own secrets were darker, more hidden, and because he believed that his secrets had created hers.

Norah watched him, serious and utterly absorbed in his task, overcome by the simple fact of his existence.

Then she had been a fiancee, a young wife, and a mother, and she had discovered that these words were far too small ever to contain the experience.

Every day has its great grief or its small anxiety. ... One cloud is dispelled, another forms. There is hardly one day in a hundred of real joy and bright sunshine.

We are against war and the sources of war. We are for poetry and the sources of poetry.

Nothing has a greater influence over your life than your thoughts rather they are negative or positive.

Upon this dispute not alone our lands and goods are engaged, but all that we call ours. These rights, these privileges, which made our fathers freemen, are in question.

A new presidential poll reveals that Democrats have the edge among voters under 30. The good news for Republicans is that there's only six people under 30 who actually vote.

What is truth? said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.

Some people speak of the Akashic Records as if they were on an IBM mainframe that's out there somewhere near the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

I'm a record collector. I've got over 2000 records. It's so nice for me to have records that are me. That's me on there.

I gave up shame a long time ago.

Those blessed structures, plot and rhyme-- why are they no help to me now I want to make something imagined, not recalled?