And my heart is breakingMy heart is lying on the floor in a pool of tearsI keep asking the same questions only to have them unanswered

I may not always like at times, but life is a beautiful blend of joy, tragedy and dreams. If not for one, I could not have the other.

All of the years I spent trying to be someone you could be proud of would have been better spent being proud of myself for who I already was.

Life became more aligned when I started taking some of the advice I'd been dishing out to my friends.

Don't forget to pause and nourish yourself a bit along the way. When you're born to help others sometimes you forget to help yourself.

You can't sweep something broken into a bag and call it whole. It takes repair.

I call my it "the Book of Paula" or BoP for short. Those are my own opinions, based on experience.

I don't know the perfect thing to say when a person is hurting but I do know the last thing they want to hear are reasons they shouldn't be hurting.

Hurting the person who hurt you won't heal your pain. Let them go. Karma will deal with them you don't have to write the script for the universe.

The burden of my anxiety is not my child's.

When we see others cry it is difficult, not because of feeling their pain, but your own.

Today I have nothing to do except sing the songs of peace.

If there's no sea-gull there's no meeting, Wicklow had said. No sea-gull means abort. That's my epitaph, thought Barley. 'There was no sea-gull, so he aborted.

England has an interesting relationship with the Indian subcontinent because the years of colonization and the history between the two places.

Irritation is a great source of energy and creativity.

You can be happy instantly by wanting what you already have.

Science "says" nothing. People say things and knowledge changes.

When we hate a person, what we hate in his image is something inside ourselves. Whatever isn't inside us can't excite us.

It's as if all identity has been stolen from them, except their identity as slaves.

I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones.

The twentieth century saw a professionalization of fiction writing, particularly in its second half and particularly in the Anglo-Saxon world - not so much mainland Europe, for example.