It's good to know that challenges are designed to make me and not to break me.

Opportunities to share love and compassion are all around us. Its going to take an army of compassionate people to heal our world. How will you show yours?

Your connection to yourself is also your connection to the divine. The more you are connected to yourself, the more you are connected to the divine. They are one and the same.

Sometimes all thats left is faith.

People who have stepped fully into their power know they don't have to push or force things they know that real power comes from surrender.

If we truly knew someone's entire life story and all the things they have been through we would drop all jealousy and comparison. We would admire their ability to shine.

You are here to be fully alive. Your expression is needed. Don't hold back

Your authenticity is the gateway to all good things.

If its almost right its wrong. Pay attention to your hesitation

You are never left out from the experience of love. You can always give and receive love right from where you're at. It's always up to you.

A regular meditation practice is one of the highest forms of self-love.

I have accepted fear as part of life – specifically the fear of change... I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back....

Being empty makes me whole sometimes. I wonder if every hollow hole has its own solidity of fulfillment

The Lord's prayer contains the sum total of religion and morals.

I am simply trying to struggle through life trying to do God's bidding.

Jane leaned back against the counter and stared at the ceiling. At the traditional location of God, no matter what the planet.

That stern and rockbound coast felt like an amateur when it saw how grim the puritans that landed on it were.

Here in Barcelona, it's the architects who built the buildings that made the city iconic who are the objects of admiration - not a bunch of half-witted monarchs.

Fare thee well my nightingale, I lived but to be near you. Thow you are singing somewhere still I can no longer hear you.

Thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold; Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear The crack of the whip, and the footsteps of fear.

Reflection is the business of man; a sense of his state is his first duty: but who remembereth himself in joy? Is it not in mercy then that sorrow is allotted unto us?