She was poetry written in pen, scribbled and scrawled again and again.

Though I exist in the realms of day and night, I'm only truly alive in the moments between.

And once the ripples still and the water returns to its unwavering calm, even the pebble that broke its surface will be forgotten. And the world will go on.

I was lost in the moments I decided to keep. To be awake in a dreamless sleep. And in that place between dream and sleep, I planted some more things I would like to keep.

She's an array of undiscovered words, of feeling beyond my threshold. I'm just a man, trying to hold himself together in her wake.

The flicker, the flutter, even thoughts can stutter.

It was her eyes. Soft, meadow-shade eyes with frostbitten edges. Every glance casually held gossamer infinity. Every stare revealed inky black abyss with a hint of divinity.

Woven words are little conviction when I present myself as a man of fiction.

She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.

With ravenous passion and reckless ambition he forged his thoughts into words, obsessed with the notion that dying would not be the last thing he would do.

He gave up. No hint of ember behind his eyes nor life in his breath. He snipped the last, overstretched strand of hope, and nicked the strand of life by mistake. He did it with his hands.

Anybody can take offense in everything. You will just go crazy if you try to make everything politically correct every single second.

Your mind is the doorkeeper of your soul and heart the king. It's unwise to let the doorkeeper control the king.

If you feel so emptySo used up, so let downIf you feel so angrySo ripped off so stepped onYou're not the only oneRefusing to back downYou're not the only oneSo get up

We may travel the world over to find a good spot, But if we are blind to search within, we find it not.

Decide to be happy, knowing it's an attitude, a habit gained from daily practice, and not a result or payoff.

One thing that America is objectively exceptional at is overreacting whenever anyone accuses them of not being exceptional.

Treat all things as if they were loaned to you without any ownership - whether body or soul, sense or strength, external goods or honors, house or hall . . . everything.

George Clooney sort of lost his 'George Clooney-ness' the first day I met him. He's not George Clooney in my eyes - he's George from Kentucky with an awesome, awesome heart.

I spent 26 years in the business without ever knowing what I was doing a month from now.

They make a desert and call it peace.