I covet solitude and storms…and rain, with its geography of dark silence and distance

Here's what I've learned - people will hurt you, but you don't have to respond: Not every mean comment or cruel act deserves to be noticed.

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.

I hear the sounds of melting snow outside my window every night and with the first faint scent of spring, I remember life exists

Dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins - now the crows own the field.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.

You'll never make it out there. You weren't made for South Pole adventures." Flora gave her an icy look. "I think I know by now what I was made for.

the greatest men that ever live pass away unknown. they put forth no claims for themselves, establish no schools of systems in their name. they never create or stir but just melt down into love

In the name of forever, let's burn down our today and tomorrows.

Our form of government depends on a mutual bond of trust between the people and their government. But people have become cynical about their government.

It is impossible to capture the essence, tolerance, and spirit of south Louisiana in words.

If I had made it in cheerleading, I would have never been an actress.

With our sympathy for the wrongdoer we need the old Puritan and Quaker hatred of wrongdoing; with our just tolerance of men and opinions a righteous abhorrence of sin.

You are not a helpless victim of your own thoughts, but rather a master of your own mind.

Our cultural instinct is to wait to get pickedNo one is going to pick you. Pick yourself.