An angry man can only get so far until he reconciles the way he thinks.

It's an inside job to learn about forgiving, it's an inside job to hang on to the joy of living.

What are these voices outside love's open door, make us throw off our contentment, and beg for something more?

The wisdom that living brings, since I got a telegram from the God of simple things.

If dirt were dollars, I wouldn't have to worry anymore.

How can love survive in such a graceless age? The trust and self assurance that lead to happiness, they're the very things we kill.

So much time weeping and wailing and shaking our fists, creating enemies that really don't exist.