My lovely shining fragile broken house is filled with flowers and founded on a rock.

A straight line is not the shortest distance between two points.

It's a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them--and they simply don't need you. That's all there is to it, and neither of you can do anything about it. And they'll be the same way with someone else, and someone else will be the same way about you and it goes on and on--this desperate need--and only once in a rare million do the same two people need each other.

We do have to use our minds as far as they will take us, yet acknowledging that they cannot take us all the way.

Our story is never written in isolation. We do not act in a one-man play. We can do nothing that does not affect other people, no matter how loudly we say, "It's my own business.

You learn to write by doing it.

Don't try to comprehend with your mind. Your minds are very limited. Use your intuition.