Growing up, Santa Claus would cover the presents with a white blanket, so when we'd wake up Christmas morning, we had to wait for my dad to do the big reveal of all the presents Santa brought.

The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask It's hard to see the pain behind the mask Bearing the burden of a secret storm Sometimes she wishes she was never born

In my daughter's eyes, I am a hero, I am strong and wise, and I know no fear, but the truth is plain to see, she was sent to rescue me, I see who I want to be, in my daughter's eyes.

Love's the only house big enough for all the pain in the world.

I grew up in the country surrounded by music.

I am happy that women can relate to my songs, and hopefully men can too.

Baby, I've tried to find a place inside your heart. Oh, but it's hard to start a fire without a spark.

I think we should all be tolerant of each other and embrace each others' strengths and differences and uniqueness and beauty.

Every show, every audience is different, and I just love leaving the venue feeling like we all know each other a little bit better.

I believe everything in moderation. But breakfast is important. I have two hard-boiled or scrambled eggs with whole-wheat toast and try to get some fruit in there.

I listen to music I'm looking to record or catch up on news and TV, whatever is on the TV at the gym!

You can be happy irrespective of what you have.

The audience was swell. They were so polite they covered their mouths when they yawned.

If you dont have anything nice to say... dead silence creates a lot awkwardness.

42% of college graduates never read a book after college.

As the daughter of a schoolteacher, I feel very strongly that the most important thing in school takes place right there in that classroom, and the interaction between the teacher and the child.

I want to be America's Margaret Thatcher. I will be the next Iron Lady.

Putting it as strongly as I can, the failure to give free airtime for our political campaigns endangers our democracy.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Selling is essentially transference of feeling.