I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.

The brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface: and why not? Any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person's nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what he loves, emotional illiterates and those of righteous envy, who, in their agitated concern, mistake so frequently the arrow pointing to heaven for the one that leads to hell.

When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended for self-flagellation solely.

A man who doesn't dream is like a man who doesn't sweat. He stores up a lot of poison.

Gasping for breath, the body still battling for life.

And since gin to artifice bears the same relation as tears to mascara, her attractions at once dissembled.

What we want most is to be held...and told..that everything (everything is a funny thing, is baby milk and papa's eyes, is roaring logs on a cold morning, is hoot owls and the boy who makes you cry after school, is mama's long hair, is being afraid and twisted faces on the bedroom wall)...is going to be alright.