Not everyone out in a storm wants to be saved

It was our favorite part of the day, this in-between time, and it always seemed to last longer than it should--a magic and lavender space unpinned from the hours around it, between worlds.

My life was my life; I would have to stare it down, somehow, and make it work for me.

Sometimes I wish we could rub out all of our mistakes and start fresh, from the beginning,' I said. 'And sometimes I think there isn't anything to us but our mistakes.

Maybe happiness was an hourglass already running out, the grains tipping, sifting past each other. Maybe it was a state of mind.

If I can write one sentence, simple and true every day, I'll be satisfied.

I miss good old-fashioned honorable people just trying to make something of life. Simply, without hurting anyone else. I know that makes me a sap.

Dogs are easy. If their tails are up and their eyes are soft, you're in.

I'd had my share of rain. My mother's illness ... had weighed on me, but the years before had been heavy, too. I was only twenty eight.

She was also incredibly confident, with a way of moving and talking that communicated that she didn't need anyone to tell her she was beautiful or worthwhile.

I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn’t ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.

A soul wound doesn't grow a new layer of normality overnight" Cinderella in Focus: Cindy'Secret

When our gospel promotes too much miracles, we are telling people that it is normal for them to expect something from nothing.

Humans need to be a multiplanet species.

Before I start painting I have a slightly ambiguous feeling: happiness is a special excitement because unhappiness is always possible a moment later.

If more than 10% of the people like a painting, you can be sure it's bad.

It's more paine to doe nothing then something.

It is difficult for people to appreciate their own laughter unless you show them some pathos along the way.

There's such a feeling of satisfaction when something you imagined turned into something real.

We have learned to express the more delicate nuances of feeling by penetrating more deeply into the mysteries of harmony.

The knowledge of the theory of logic has no tendency whatever to make men good reasoners.