When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

We fear monsters because we fear the dark parts of ourselves.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

Ambition or contentment? This simple question led me back to a more balanced view of life and put me in touch with the Me I used to know.

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists