Why do we love love when love seems to hate us?

I'm not the type of woman who shows off my body; I'm a vocalist and I'm a writer and I think people see that more so than they see anything else. That's just who I am.

The person I would trust the most is my mom. She's just really creative... She's a playwright and she's a musician.

When I find myself having that much trouble with a song or a character or a story, I tend to move on.

After you've been away, people's expectations are like, "Well, you better have something to show for it. Tell us why you've been away so long!"

Everybody is going to love me and this is not being cocky - this is just what I see.

If you hear a good song, it makes you hopeful like, That is out there.

As I'm writing it, I'm kind of curious to see what's going to happen. It almost feels like I'm the writer and I'm the listener, too.

I think a lot of the way that I try to write my stories come from watching my mom write plays and trying to do that.

I'm not great with breathing, like holding notes. I usually don't. A lot of people wouldn't believe it, but I don't focus on technical stuff.

What's kind of weird is that when I'm writing I don't know where I'm going to go.

Do research. Feed your talent. Research not only wins the war on cliche, it's the key to victory over fear and it's cousin, depression.

Disillusionment is the enemy of prosperity and well-being

There are only two lives we might live: our dream or our destiny. Sometimes they are one in the same, and sometimes they're not. Often our dreams are just a path to our destinies.

The reason why you don´t have success is, because you don´t understand the difference between wasting and spending time.

I will try and remember always to approach God in secret with as much reverence in speech, posture, and behavior as in public. Help me, Thou who knowest my frame and pitiest as a father his children.

I never thought I'd see the day that I would see white folks as frightened, or more so, than black folks was during the civil rights movement when we was in Mississippi.

There is no heaven on Earth. Not now anyway.

We are strong enough to stand tall tearlessly, we are brave enough to bend to cry, and we are sad enough to know that we must laugh again.

God, his chin. She wanted to make an honest woman of his chin. She wanted to lock it down.

Faith laughs at the shaking of the spear; unbelief trembles at the shaking of a leaf.