Maybe before you die, it's your ghosts you see.

Hope keeps you alive.

A good friend keeps your secrets for you. A best friend helps you keep your own secrets.

I guess that's what saying good-bye is always like--like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you're in the air, there's nothing you can do but let go.

I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people-to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole, to see the cause and think it's the effect or vice versa

Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.

How is it possible, I think, to change so much and not be able to change anything at all?

This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.

Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.

Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.

And then, just at that moment, when I'm no longer sure if I'm dreaming or awake or walking some valley in between where everything you wish for comes true, I feel the flutter of his lips on mine.

Literature is an invitation to people to discover the world of others and the world of others is the best source to understand and to improve our own world!

Those who believe [in Christ] are expected to be different from the world . . . they are members of a new society.

There is something in me that makes me see things through.

The source of man's unhappiness is his ignorance of Nature.

Tim Duncan's foot issue, I think, is a major factor in this year's playoffs. That's not the kind of injury that gets better over time playing NBA basketball.

What comes from oneself is nearly from no one. There is only me as a link.

Conscience represents a fetich to which good people sacrifice their own happiness, bad people their neighbors'.

Just so you know: if a rakshasa shows up, I left my sword in the car.

I have to say that those nine years were full of turmoil and drama and trauma to me, in actual fact.

Racism is stupid. It’s an insult to God, arrogantly implying that God goofed-up when he chose to make us all different.