To be in love Is to touch things with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well.

And if sun comes / How shall we greet him? / Shall we not dread him, / Shall we not fear him / After so lengthy a / Session with shade?

There are no magics or elves / Or timely godmothers to guide us. We are lost, must / Wizard a track through our own screaming weed.

Do not desire to fit in. Desire to oblige yourselves to lead.

There can be no whiter whiteness than this one: An insurance man's shirt on its morning run.

I don't like the idea of the black race being diluted out of existence. I like the idea of all of us being here.

Very early in life I became fascinated with the wonders language can achieve. And I began playing with words.