I am wrong more often than i am writing and even then i am often wrong

Forests may be gorgeous but there is nothing more alive than a tree that learns how to grow in a cemetery.

Remember, you didn’t come here to write your heart out. You came to write it in.

My mouth is a fire escape. The words coming out don’t care that they are naked. There is something burning in there.

And we were Banksy on an overpass in New Orleans spray-painting porch lights on the hurricane. We were welcome mats for the un-forgiven. We never sold our windpipes to make a living. We were the letters sent to the wrong address, but opened anyway. We opened anyway.

We have to create; it is the only thing louder than destruction.

I know a thousand things louder than a soldier's gun; I know the heartbeat of his mother.