(and from my thighs which shrug and pant a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she carries in a gesture of her hips)

The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.

To be nobody-but-yourself - in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.

Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.

The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.

The first step to expanding your reality is to discard the tendency to exclude things from possibility.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.

You soak up my soul and mingle me. Each drop of my blood cries out to the earth. We are partners, blended as one.

For a 12-year-old with a hyperactive imagination who liked to dream of dreary gothic castles, suburban Florida felt a little stifling.

Does one deserve to have evil done to her by consequence of putting herself where evil can reach her?

Jesus Christ does not save the worthy, but the unworthy. Your plea must not be righteousness but guilt

The next Republican that will win will campaign in the Latino community, will campaign amongst Asian-Americans, will campaign in the black churches, will campaign in college campuses.

I was lucky with my first film because it had Warhol in it. That was the selling point.

Gently stroke your books, dear stranger, and remember they are dust.

Life is pointless...and that is God's greatest gift.

For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odour are not its dower; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful.

I know that change is difficult, and comes slowly, and that it is the work of many days strung together in a long line until the origin of them is forgotten.