And taking care of somebody else made me feel good. Like discovering you're more than you thought you were. More even than you hoped to be.

What is genius, anyway, if it isn't the ability to give an adequate response to a great challenge?

Look inside yourself and you'll find a world of things (a world of your own experiences)worth writing about.

Keep in mind that life produces no maestros, only students of varying shades of ineptitude.

Fun, like champagne bubbles, can't completely fill you up.

I believe that love is better than hate. And that there is more nobility in building a chicken coop than in destroying a cathedral.

Why is it I'm always so quick to believe that people are thinking...believing the worst about me?