Alone. The saddest word in the world.

How is it possible for me to be so miserable and embarrassed and humiliated and beaten an function still talk and smile and concentrate?

Maybe the new me will be different.

Why is life so difficult? Why can't we be just ourselves and have everyone accept us the way we are?

I’m really cracking. No, I’m beyond cracking. I’m shattered. I’m lost. I’m fragmented.

They have accepted me as an individual, as a personality, as an entity. I belong! I am important! I am somebody!

I’ve got to sleep. Sleep is my only way to escape.

The voice of every kid hooked on drugs, alcohol or the occult joins the sad chorus "Not me! I didn't think it could ever happen to me. I was sure I could handle it.

I'm not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I've gotten from books.

She didn't know whether she was running away from something or running to something, but she admitted that deep in her heart she wanted to go home.

I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Lewis G Carroll was on drugs too.

I strongly believe in all crisis is just an opportunity to make miracles

Adjusting our mindset for success is always at least half the battle. In the case of overcoming our fears, rather than being overcome by them, - it is 99% a war waged in our own head.

The message is that I was reminding myself and informing others of the fact that God has always been good to me. No matter what you're going through, God is always with us. Life is a journey.

You see only the beautiful things when you stand still. You only see things that you don't ordinarily notice. The birds are the prettiest things, I imagine.

We pity or condemn the communist peoples of the world for being bound in the chains of doctrine. So are we. Our doctrine runs as follows: Our Way is the Only Way.

Out of many evils the evil which is least is the least of evils. [Lat., E malis multis, malum, quod minimum est, id minimum est malum.]

Tonight, we will both discover, how friends turn into lovers, when I make love to you.

My hand trembles, my heart does not.

It is something of a miracle that individual selfish decisions (in a market economy) must lead to a collectively efficient outcome.

Many painters are afraid of the blank canvas, but the blank canvas is afraid of the truly passionate painter who dares-and who has once broken the spell of 'you can't.'