Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.

But sometimes the best help a person can find is helping someone else.

I have no balance. My life is a hot mess.

There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

She was a wicked thing sometimes. All full of want. As if the shape of the world depended on her mood. As if she were important.

Now it's virtually impossible to write a game that successfully provides challenge and frustration, and that's a shame. We are going to lose something that makes scientists, that makes doers, that makes hard-minded, witty, clever people, and I worry that those people aren't being made these days.

A poet is a musician who can't sing.