Who do I belong to? How come I mortgaged my being till I don't belong to myself? How come I sold my blood? And who now owns my indecisions, my hands, my private pain, my pride?

He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.

If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life

Love is not about property, diamonds and gifts. It is about sharing your very self with the world around you.

In one kiss, you'll know all I haven't said.

To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

If each day falls inside each night, there exists a well where clarity is imprisoned. We need to sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for fallen light with patience.

Let go of your hate. It's not too late.

Music helps us drift away to places of tranquility, happiness, sadness, & imagination.

Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.

He heapeth up riches and knoweth not who shall gather them.

A big talent steals, a small talent borrows.

When you've been on a ghetto diet your entire life, you're just happy to get a large soda instead of a medium.

Ku’Sox was indeed a demon. In. The. Sun. I needed answers, but I wanted them from Al, not…Cute Socks here.

Warning: Do not read this story right after eating. In fact, don't read it right before eating either. In fact, just to be safe, don't read this story if you're ever planning to eat again.

I try not to worry about other people's music. But if there's one thing that I hear these days, it's that people try and put [music] down so tight that they take all the color out of it.

Coal-black is better than another hue In that it scorns to bear another hue; For all the water in the ocean Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, Although she lave them hourly in the flood.