No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

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.

An eternity of wishing to speak directly to my Creator - I thought in despair - and this is how He finally contacts me? Through AOL Instant Messenger?

Worship is forever.

After all we have few friends, if we don't show that we care about them, we will reach 0 friends...

If you see a strange thing, try to understand it! If you can understand it, nothing strange will remain!

Once an interesting idea or theme occurs to me then I would want to write a poem about it. The rest, frankly, is not difficult.

As a kid, I was always a tomboy, playing sport and doing martial arts. And I'm pretty opinionated - I've never been told that I'm a weak person.

Moderation is like sobriety: you would like to have some more, but are afraid of making yourself ill.

Familiarity breeds contempt only when it breeds inattention.

Simply believing in the existence of God is not exactly what I would call a commitment. After all, even the devil believes that God exists. Believing has to change the way we live.

The English mind is always in a rage. The intellect of the race is wasted in the sordid and stupid quarrels of second-rate politicians or third-rate theologians.