Everybody has an angel hiding inside. When you die, your angel comes out. You can die, but not your angel. Your angel never dies.

Every child's bedroom is as important as a telescope orbiting the planet earth or a philosopher's study.

This was the ghetto: where children grow down instead of up.

Star people are rare.

She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow.

Tell me I didn't imagine it, Leo. Tell me that even though our bodies were in seperate states, our star selves shared an enchanted place. Tell me that right around noon today (eastern time) you had the strangest sensation: a tiny chill on your shoulder...a flutter in the heart...a shadow of strawberry-banana crossing your tongue...tell me you whispered my name.

He doesn't think. He just does. A nonthinking doer.