“The greatest wish I have ever had is to create with words, what wizards cannot and what magic never has.”

She is alone, and oh how brilliantly she shines.

But I was brutal and violent in a way they tell women not to be.

Did the girl choose magic, or does magic choose the girl?

Does a heart that is rotted cease to be called a heart?

I will not give up the flowers in my heart for stones just because the world is a hard place. The world is only hard because it needs more flower hearted people.

Nothing will come of forcing yourself to compete your way out of trauma.

Even the day must let go of the sun and allow the light to disappear, so the darkness can live for a while. The only way out of grief is through it.

There is no justice in the world. You have to make your own, because believe me, the cosmos that gifted you the chaos, also created you with care.

You are not his princess. You are your own queen.

Girlhood is confronting the parts of you that you think are too dark for anyone to love.

If he truly loves you, he will love you when you are an ocean breeze but also when you are a summer storm. You were not made to be loved in parts. You were meant to be loved as a whole.

What do you do when you see a love so pure, so completely unwavering other than bow to it?

Burn every memory that does not help you grow. Destruction, too, can be necessary.

There is a difference between holy and pure. Holy is also the way the anger boils inside our throats.

There is a knowing in her, she hears them say, that makes her untamable. She has known since she was a child that she is observant in a way that makes them uncomfortable.

Anxious people are resorceful, they need to know how to keep the sea of panic at bay so they do not drown.

The writer has to choose the right words to express his sentences, and then, once he has sealed the envelope, he has to place those thoughts in the hands of someone else,

Women move through the world never knowing their power.

Was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. Not a negative word was heard.

Lyricists play with words.

Retire? I can’t spell the word. I’d play in a wheelchair.

All the things I thought I was – simple and plain and sometime funny – are very small words.

The authority of the Word, and the commands of the Spirit.

There is admiration, learning, attraction and something which, for the want of a better word, we call happiness.