You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Through windows, in wishing wells, whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

In that wounded place, buried betweenmy ribs and letting go, I miss you.

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Bridge burned from end to end, and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

I build boxesand place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. This is the reality.

Some folks are happier not being saved.

I want a house that has gotten over all its troubles I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house.

As men begin to grow civilized, they cease to be satisfied with mere taboos.

A man who has a language consequently possesses the world expressed and implied by that language.

My scripts are always filled with notes. I like to just analyze everything from the point of view of the whole picture, of the movie, my whole picture.

Faith doesn't always instantly deliver you, but it always carries you through.

I spent five and a half years in prison. The worst part was coming home and finding out Green Acres had been cancelled. What the hell was I fighting for?

Many a truth is the result of an error.

I'm gonna walk down the aisle in style and profile.