Time flows in a strange way on Sundays.

Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.

I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.

No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.

Say it before you run out of time. Say it before it's too late. Say what you're feeling. Waiting is a mistake.

I probably still haven’t completely adapted to the world. I don’t know, I feel like this isn’t the real world. The people, the scene: they just don’t seem real to me.

But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn’t it?

The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time.

When I first met you, I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time, you are running away for all you’re worth.

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.

Genevieve hunched her shoulders against the storm of sound and fury and struggled to imagine a worse sort of hell. Widdershins, of course, seemed perfectly happy, but Widdershins was weird.

They were the Saturday Club, a secret society of which only the four of them were aware and which none other could join.

Can one man's madness be another's real life?

A great White Bear waits outside. He has faithfully promised to make us all rich if he can but have our youngest daughter.

She's a fighter, and she does the long program well, so we'll see how it turns out. And in figure skating, it's never over until the fat lady sings.

Use every customer point of contact to weave stories about who you are and what your brand stands for.

The poet is he who can write some pure mythology today without the aid of posterity.

I have not seen any Christian sparrow or Muslim lion or Jewish elephant! Animals are lucky as they have not yet invented the religion!

Classes? Categories? Was that what we had come to?