Wait, we can not break bread with you. You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans, and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides, and you will play golf, and eat hot h'ors d'ourves. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will have stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They said do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all of these reasons I have decided to scalp you and burn your village to the ground.

If God didn't want you to have it, He would never have let you see it.

Most gay bashers will be wearing what gay people had on four years earlier - only in polyester with a Penney's label.

I love [my parents], but what if I could really talk to them? I mean, what if they had some answers? Or would that just be too weird?

Writing is 90 percent procrastination: reading magazines, eating cereal out of the box, watching infomercials.

Most convicted felons are just people who were not taken to museums or Broadway musicals as children.

I believe in a benevolent God not because He created the Grand Canyon or Michelangelo, but because He gave us snacks.