When a woman's face is wrinkled And her hairs are sprinkled, With gray, Lackaday! Aside she's cast, No one respect will pay; Remember, Lasses, remember. And while the sun shines make hay: You must not expect in December, The flowers you gathered in May.

Sometimes it take courage to leave.

When I write I am the real me.

Let me say the good are often punished unfairly.

You don't trade in the devil you know for the one you don't know.

When I wrote, I felt better, as if I had remade the world all of a piece, the way I wanted it to be, not the way it was.

Doing good doesn't always make you feel good. I don't care what they tell you in church.