The world is a wheel always turning.

In America, money takes the place of God.

The only compensation for the artist is the chance to feed hungry hearts.

The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.

Though my father was poor and had nothing, the Torah, the poetry of prophets, was his daily bread.

Science has salvaged scrap metal and even found vitamins and valuable oils in refuse, but old people are extravagantly wasted.

I'm one of the millions of immigrant children, children of loneliness, wandering between worlds that are at once too old and too new to live in.