“Find my hand in the darkness and if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own.”

She is she alone, and never needs help from me to be all she is.

I will wait, I am waiting, and I will love you with all the love I posses until this body is ash and I begin my search for you again.

All I know, all I can comprehend of the mathematics of a life, are the times your hand is inside my hand, and the times it is not.

Some days I wake up and all I feel are the fractures in the flesh that covers the only me I’ve ever known.

Look up more than down. See more than say. Listen more than speak. Hope more than dread. Believe more than criticize. Yes more than no. No more than maybe. Laugh more than cry. Love more than hate. See. More. See.

Just keep waking up, dragging yourself out of bed. It will get better.

I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.

I find you in storms, I feel you in the lightning, I miss you in rain.

You are exactly Precisely and perfectly What I waited for.

Will you tolerate the strangeness inside of me, the quirks of my soul?

Are they beautiful? The lines left from suffering, Scars of emptiness.

When I’m an old man, I don’t want to count the years, we forgot to share.

Don’t ever tell me I’m broken if you will not be the glue, and please don’t point out the fractures if that’s all you’re allowed to do.

And you loved me like I was, and had always been, the answer and the question did not, and would never, matter.

There is no difference: Love is love and love is love. We are all the same.

I want the light filtered down through the trees painting flesh like a mosaic and filling up the dark in me. I want to see how sunset decorates your hair.

Is cooking an art ? Is talking an art ? Is even painting an art ? It is artfulness that makes art, not the medium itself. Of course photography is an art – when it is in the hands of artists.”

I’ve never needed government to hold my hand.

The best compliment was Ben Kingsley coming up to me, putting his hand on the back of my neck, and saying, “Good job, son.”.

Writing anything, it sorta starts the way you’d build a castle at the beach. You’re just taking your hands and you’re mounting up sand.

My workday begins around 11 A.M., with a cup of black coffee in each hand. If I had more hands, there would be more coffee.

A true measure of strength is to use your hands to incapacitate somebody.

O marriage! marriage! what a curse is thine, Where hands alone consent and hearts abhor.

All I can do is leave it in God’s hands and hope that my fans feel where I’m coming from.