So much of young adult literature has turned dark, almost pathological. It's almost as if there is a race to see who can be the most dysfunctional.

Often times, the greatest peace comes of surrender.

Man has left footprints on the moon but still hasn't walked on the ocean floor.

There are two kinds of people. Those who climb mountains and those who sit in the shadow of the mountains and critique the climbers.

That which we expect of life is indeed all that it ever can be.

Dance. Dance for the joy and breath of childhood. Dance for all children, including that child who is still somewhere entombed beneath the responsibility and skepticism of adulthood. Embrace the moment before it escapes from our grasp. For the only promise of childhood, of any childhood, is that it will someday end. And in the end, we must ask ourselves what we have given our children to take its place. And is it enough?

such fickle days of love when pain and ecstasy share the same hour