Like most fans of 'So You Think You Can Dance,' I wouldn't know a pasodoble if it beat me with a rake.

When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.

In my headphones, I led a life of romance and incident and intrigue, none of which had anything to do with the world outside my Walkman.

Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I'm a mix-tape, a cassette that's been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.

Anyone watching '30 Rock' always knew Tina Fey was playing a fictionalized version of herself, a workaholic comedy writer who also plays one on TV. She's the boss; Liz Lemon just works here.

Our lives were just beginning, our favorite moment was right now, our favorite songs were unwritten.

But bringing people together is what music has always done best.

Love dies in many different ways, and it's natural for the grass to seem greener on the other side. But it's not a competition; there's plenty of pain to go around.

You can hear the Celtic heartbeat all over Europe and America, from Bing Crosby to Jack White, from the Smiths to My Bloody Valentine, from House of Pain to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

There are all kinds of mix tapes. there is always a reason to make one.

Thanks to the greatest invention of recent years, the MP3-playing alarm clock, I can now choose the song that wakes me up in the morning.

About here, she thought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and she muttered, dreamily half asleep, how we perished, each alone.

Every day is a gift from God. Learn to focus on the Giver and enjoy the gift!

I sympathize afresh with the mighty Voltaire who, when badgered on his deathbed and urged to renounce the devil, murmured that this was no time to be making enemies.

The Bible does not tell us that life in this world will be fair. Evil and sin are not Victorian gentlemen; they do not play fair.

I'll say American for now. I really have no preference, though. Nationality is nothing. It's all about the girl - but she has to be curvy!

The war we are fighting until victory or the bitter end is in its deepest sense a war between Christ and Marx. Christ: the principle of love. Marx: the principle of hate.

I'd tell him, though. Soon. Soonish. Eventually.

When I wake up, I always drink tons of Guayaki organic yerba mate tea.

We are presumptuous not when we marvel at His grace, but when we reject it.

If you know the differences between an oak and a poplar, a spruce and a pine, down to the needles... you are able to paint that tree with more conviction, even if done with a few broad strokes.