There are days when I think I don't believe anymore. When I think I've grown too old for miracles. And that's right when another seems to happen.

Guys don't go for me. Period. I don't distract them. They don't sneak glances in my direction. They don't think of me when I'm not standing right in front of them. I'm scenery. I'm background.

They're just words. And words alone don't really mean anything. It's what you feel and what you believe when you say them that matter.

Precision about language can be really, really annoying. It can make you miss the point of what the other person is saying altogether.

When there's something or someone, when there's anything that makes you happy, you don't let a continent or an ocean or an empty pocket keep you apart

The Little Drummer Boy was playing in the background for what seemed like the third time in a row. I fought off an urge to beat that Little Drummer Boy senseless with his own drumsticks.

We sat looking out at the ocean. There was just so much of it, and it never failed to take my breath away. Looking at the ocean gave me the same sensation I'd get staring at a sky full of stars- that I was small. Like the way a math problem reveals its undeniable truth, I knew when I stared into this sort of endlessness that my life didn't count for much of anything. And knowing that, that I was nothing but a speck, I felt pretty lucky for all that I had.