My mother and I split ways when I was very young and have never really reconciled.

Oh, I love hugging. I wish I was an octopus, so I could hug 10 people at a time!

Life is very interesting... in the end, some of your greatest pains, become your greatest strengths.

I never regret anything. Because every little detail of your life is what made you into who you are in the end.

When I lay my head on the pillow at night I can say I was a decent person today. That's when I feel beautiful.

I pray to be like the ocean, with soft currents, maybe waves at times. More and more, I want the consistency rather than the highs and the lows.

There's something liberating about not pretending. Dare to embarrass yourself. Risk.

I'm a real stay-at-home mom. I'm really hands-on. Everything else became secondary.

I think happiness is what makes you pretty.

Daisies are like sunshine to the ground.

I've always loved butterflies, because they remind us that it's never too late to transform ourselves.

Everyone know is, soul does it or it doesn't exist it really doesn't matter. What does it matter is that you will die soon and you will be out of the Matrix!

Art does not reproduce the visible

I have no idea why I write. The old standards are: I like to express my feelings, stretch my imagination, earn money.

One faerie - and then we were free. Just on more swing of my arm. And maybe one more after that - maybe one more swing, up and inward and into my own heart.

I feel like I'm wearing orthopedic shoes, because I stand corrected.

Little wonder that it can seem unthinkable to say "no, thanks" to the modern-day equivalent of our tribe - our fear-driven culture.

Weening is not measure.

This was my first novel [The Dissemblers ]. I've never seriously written short stories, and actually find short stories much more intimidating as an art form than novels.

All religions are cruel, all founded on blood; for all rest principally on the idea of sacrifice - that is, on the perpetual immolation of humanity to the insatiable vengeance of divinity.

Come forth, old man,--thy daughter's side Is now the fitting place for thee: When time has quell'd the oak's bold pride, The youthful tendril yet may hide, The ruins of the parent tree.