“Answers will bring you home, but questions – they’ll take you everywhere.”

Are you afraid of their potential? or you just unaware of yours.

Your heart has no reason to lie to you.

If you’re growing, trust me, you’re still young.

Even in the smallest whispers, love always echoes back.

Stop holding so tightly onto your love. The wind knows where it needs to go.

You, when I’m afraid, and you when I’m brave.

Its amazing how you return everything the world takes away from me.

And in the quietest moments, I miss your silence.

Are you afraid of their potential? or you just unaware of yours.

You, when I’m afraid, and you when I’m brave.

This is what the heart wants. This is what the head won’t get.

Spring blooms, even in places where life once ended.

And every time they have touched me, my skin has asked if its you.

Feel, so you can heal. Heal, so you can feel.

And despite it all, we dream. That is our greatest resistance.

Nothing born of sun and storms is ever weak in any form.

I want people to come away from my book with questions. Questions about virtue and goodness. Not answers.

You smell good, too, said patchit’s called a shower. I was staring straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, i turned sideways. Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.Naked. I know the drill.

If the answer is no, ignore it and move on. Your energy is better used doing your work and outpacing people that way. Then, when you’re in charge, don’t hire the people who were jerky to you.

Each must find out for himself, and must accept the responsibility that his answer prescribes. If he succeeds he will continue to grow in spite of all indignities.

At most, I may write when I am disturbed by something. I have recently discovered the pleasure of finding written answers to written questions.

Nora: i have questions. Patch: i should have known you’ve only been keeping me around for answers. Nora: well, that and your kisses. Anyone ever tell you you’re an incredible kisser?

There are no right answers to wrong questions.

I can’t answer either question. But the look she gives me reminds me of the look in the attack dog’s eyes in the aptitude test – a vicious, predatory stare. She wants to rip me to pieces. I can’t lie down in submission now. I have become an attack dog too.