Sometimes darknessis the beauty I am made of—

I place solitude in a frame on my desk and call it, the one I love.

We must live with our hearts in our hands - like Mary.We must hold the blood-red heart and no be disappointedwhen others look away.

As I go under, I wonder if there’s a reason for art?

Yes, it hurts to fall— ache, tenderness—but each scar is a sign your system is working.

She pours sugar on her life and drinks the artist’s marrow in the bone of her glass and she lives.

in the corner of the painting of successthe signature is blurred

Like the kite that caught up to the sky, painted with clouds, I lost track of it, but it was connected by string, something I was holding, something I could always bring back.

To suffer together is to suffer with beauty,

Maybe I’m still the mermaid. Maybe the ocean is your hand.

For everyone who never smiled in school photos, for all who’ve wandered city streetsnot knowing the where they were or feeling alone, I’ve packed kindness.

We soon fall asleep in each other’s arms, knowing to myself that I captured her, like a prisoner in a cage.

With different changes but the same plot, sometimes our story has already unfolded. It's just trapped in the pages of ink and paper. God is waiting in His Word.

I really, really wanted to lose awareness of the here and now. The best way for me to do that was bury myself in a book.

I think you're all mad. But that's part and parcel of being an artistic genius, isn't it?

I am led to the proposition that there is no fiction or nonfiction as we commonly understand the distinction: there is only narrative.

Take noise-cancelling headphones, a good book, and wear comfy clothes.

I'm still vulnerable and still weak.

Where the hell are the singing cats?

If you have acid in food, you need to sugar it. At a high temperature, the acids are changed to sugar.

Every country that aspires to become a nation needs its heroes, its eminent civic and moral leaders, and if it doesn't have them, it's our duty to invent them.