i am infinitely yearningbrimmingand overflowingin wordsi discoverit’s another wayfor meto be in tears.

some winterswill never meltsome summerswill never freezeand some things will only... live in poems.

...so i will greet youin a wayall loved thingsare meant to be greetedwith a tear in my heartand a poem in my eye.

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too, have been bruised...by beauty.

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold, but just beautiful to listen to.

i'm glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.

and the afterglow...of your gaze...is the onlysweater that I need.

there is some achingthat will only heal...in the mosque of sleep.

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated....foreverin my mother’s arms.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

Don’t waste your time in anger, regrets, worries, and grudges. Life is too short to be unhappy.

When one is different, the answers have to come from within.

The devil is the god of this planet and he does anything he wants to the people therein

Marketing starts even before our books are published.

Heretics are wicked, but they're mighty int'resting. It's jest that they've got sorter lost looking for God, being under the impression that He's hard to find - which He ain't never.

If we quit Vietnam, tomorrow we'll be fighting in Hawaii, and next week we'll have to fight in San Francisco.

The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven not man's.

The Tea Party has imparted political energy to common-sense American constitutionalism.

I go through about two Fender mediums a night because I don't pick straight down; it's sort of sideways, and it shaves them off.

I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.