A question like “do you love me?” was an itch our doctors told us not to scratch.

But we are more than genteel or civilized/ we are an idea in the process of being realized.

Scrape the grey sky clean, realize that every dark cloud is a smokescreen meant to blind us from the truth

I have loved this life. I smile because I have tiny dreams that play hopscotch at the corners of my mouth. And every time I breathe they float, every time I laugh, they fly kites.

Don't tell me you're not beautiful. You're the kind of beautiful the blind would see if we could figure out some way to give them three seconds of sight.

A question like “do you love me?” was an itch our doctors told us not to scratch.

The tiniest dream that you make happen is worth more than the biggest dream that you never attempt.