On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.

Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.

Do certain events in our lives leave a permanent mark, freezing a piece of us in time, and that becomes a touchstone that we measure the rest of our lives against?

Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.

When is a cell finally too small to hold our essence?

Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.