The morning drips her dew for me, Noon spreads an opal canopy. Home-bound, the drifting cloud-crafts rest Where sunset ambers all the west...

It is not raining to me, It's raining daffodils; In every dimpled drop I see Wild flowers on distant hills.

The Dawn is a wild, fair woman, With sunrise in her hair; Look where she stands, with pleading hands, To lure me there.

The longer the trial to which God subjects you, the greater the goodness in comforting you during the time of the trial and in the exaltation after the combat.

As a man thinketh so is he? The faith of a mustard seed? I planted these words in my thoughts, and still, mind wound up lost, between my dreams and reality.

You try to become the character that you're working with. So for me, I try to block out the cameras and try to trick my mind that this is actually happening.

Consistency is the horror of the world.

Our mothers put God first when they fill their highest mission within the walls of their own homes.

Always find a time to sit on a humid autumn bench to feed the poor birds or to think the dying leaves!

Anytime people read my tweets, they hear it in Auto-Tune.

Tod Goldberg has long been one of the most interesting writers around, and Gangsterland is his biggest and best book so far.

I take it that no man is educated who has never dallied with the thought of suicide.

Men have marble, women waxen, minds.