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.

There are depths to the human soul that should not be fathomed.

I didn't know how to say goodbye. Words were stupid. They said so little. Yet they opened up holes you could fall into and never climb out of again.

Love is like light and there are two kinds, the bursting fireworks of the moment and the solid, fixed stars that sometimes become obscured in the heavens, but are always there, year after year, for a lifetime.

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.

When I write I am the real me.

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