“I read that good things take time – but one look at him, and I knew I could never love someone more.”

Her body may lay on your sheets, but my name sits softly on your lips.

The leaves know when to let go – if only I had the same instinct.

Painting over cracks as you watch the ceiling fall – not everything can be healed with love.

Don’t waste your words on me, your face speaks in volumes that your breath could never reach.

A dishonor greater than any affair, is that of a friend who never was.

Hollow intent and echoes affection, a call with no response. Who could trust a dormant heart – where apathy is shaped like love?

Leaves dance on twisted arms, swaying on the breeze as though choreographed by unseen hands. Even the faithless could find themselves converts, by the smell of dampened earth and its blossoming rose.

I see the way that he is with you – holding your heart with softness he never spared for mine.

Lies sound so sweet when they are wrapped in velvet, a luxurious deception that charms my restless spirit – and I’m forever taken by beautiful things.

I fill the shadow of the girl you want, a placeholder to the one I know you’d rather – I’ll do for now, but not forever.

Maybe this time I choose ignorance, because giving began to feel like losing – repairing a house from rubble, and making sandcastles with the ash.

The knot in a grain of wood, a frost covering sodden grass. Mornings warmed by the rising sun and brewing coffee – the vision of the poet.

My thoughts feel like plagiarism – a feeling already felt, the words already written.

It spills from my fingers faster than ink can flow – feelings too strong to contain, emotions that demand to be felt.

14 days, but I can’t change my sheets. Your scents still marks my pillow – and its all that I have left.

Peace found me in a wordless embrace – in the rising of autumn sun, and the sound of turning pages.

What are you talking about? Wait a minute, you’re getting out of the zone.’ People hate when people cross lines.

I think that it’s a crime to say you are bored when time is so precious and there are so many things to do in life: read, learn, watch.

The Bible in translation is being read to thousands and thousands in Africa. It is an integral part of their functioning and the way they look at the world.

I’m always ready for a change. I’m Irish. I’m a leprechaun.

A book burrows into your life in a very profound way because the experience of reading is not passive.

I do believe that in every age there are people whose consciousness transcends their own time and that these people, whether fictional or historical, are those with whom we most closely identify and those about whom we most enjoy reading.

To be well informed, one must read quickly a great number of merely instructive books. To be cultivated, one must read slowly and with a lingering appreciation the comparatively few books that have been written by men who lived, thought, and felt with style.

The only books that influence us are those for which we are ready, and which have gone a little farther down our particular path than we have yet got ourselves.