Take down the walls.

Live free or die.

Perfection is a promise, and a reassurance that we are not wrong.

He is no longer mine to lose, but the grief is there, a gnawing sense of disbelief.

We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.

And you can't love, not fully, unless you are loved in return.

But maybe happiness isn't in the choosing. Maybe it's in the fiction, in the pretending: that wherever we have ended up is where we intended to be all along.

I don't understand how everything changes, how the layers of your life get buried. Impossible. At some point, at some time, we must all explode.

For a second, I feel a sense of overwhelming grief: for how things change, for the fact that we can never go back. I'm not certain of anything anymore. I don't know what will happen--

This is the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you.

That is the rule of the Wilds: You must be bigger and stronger and tougher. You must hurt or be hurt.

their powerlessness, innocence, and imagination fused to enable them to turn time inside out, travel on the wind, and enter the souls of animals.

...if you've got writer's block, you aren't empty - maybe it's just like Twitter - overwhelmed, and loading seems to be taking a while...

We have lived and loved together Through many changing years We have shared each other's gladness And wept each other's tears.

I pulled a hamstring during the New York City Marathon. An hour into the race, I jumped off the couch.

Charm never made a rooster.

Dreams are reality at its most profound, and what you invent is truth because invention, by its nature, can't be a lie.

People initially think I'm a snob because I'm intensely private.

No man is quick enough to enjoy life.

I grew up on the West Side - the "near West Side," [in Detroit], as they say - in what would be considered now the inner city.

Style is an expression of your individuality. Who you are and what your mood is, is what you wear.