I was so focused at 21, maybe to my own detriment because I didn't allow myself to have fun. I was constantly looking for the next audition and working to pay the bills.

This morning I was laughing at my cat who was running up the stairs and slipped, and pretended like it didn't happen.

I was really across-the-board, like a nutcase. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, so I just did everything. I was even part of FHA, Future Homemakers of America. How lost was I?

I don't remember my dreams. I'm one of those weird people. I know there are tricks and things you can do, but I never remember my dreams.

I did math in school, obviously. And I loved all my math teachers.

My husband calls me a ginger every single day of my life, so that Im completely used to it, and Ive come to see it as a term of endearment.

I definitely know that I'm quirky. I know that I'm different. Red hair definitely made me different growing up.

I was a big fan of 'The Smurfs' growing up, even though by default - my mom used to force me to watch because she was a 'Smurfs' fan.

I feel really content in my 30s actually. I don't feel like the wisest person in the world but I definitely don't worry or stress like I used to.

Growing up I played piano and I sang at a lot of weddings; I grew up in a very small town, a little coal-mining town in Virginia called Grundy. And my family was very sing-songy at home.

Some stories always remain incomplete, until you do not read them complete with heart <3

If an ontology predicts almost nothing it ends up explaining almost nothing, and there's no reason to believe it.

A proper home can provide the bridge across that terrible gulf between poverty and a better future.

Our greatest furies spring from events which violate our sense of the ground of our existence.

We walk the brink of racial suicide because we were smart enough to make atomic bombs and stupid enough to use them.

Players draw confidence from a poised, alert coach who anticipates changing in game conditions

But at the end of the day, there are some questions that have no answers, and then one answer that has no question: love rules the game. Every time. All the time. That’s what counts.

I think if someone gets kicked in the face it is their fault- they watched the foot come towards their face.

If they don't read, if they don't love reading; if they don't find themselves compulsively reading, I don't think they're really a writer

The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom.