“Tell me I’m clever, Tell me I’m kind, Tell me I’m talented, Tell me I’m cute, Tell me I’m sensitive, Graceful and wise, Tell me I’m perfect – But tell me the truth.”

Whatever you are is all okay. I don’t like you anyway.

Once I spoke the language of the flowers, Once I understand each word the caterpillar said, Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings.

When the light turns green, you go. When the light turns red, you stop. But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?

But all the magic I have known I’ve had to make it myself.

And she loved a boy very, very much- even more than she loved herself.

There is a place where the sidewalk ends.

And he didn’t really know where he was going, but he did know he was going somewhere because you really have to go somewhere, don’t you?

And the boy loved the tree, very much. And the tree was happy.

If the track is tough and the hill is rough, thinking you can just ain’t enough.

I keep meeting all the right people at all the wrong places.

I can be somebody’s and still be my own.

And all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.

There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, so just give me a happy middle And a very happy start.

He wasted his wishes on wishing.

I am writing these poems From inside a lion.

We can’t hold hands – someone might see. Won’t you please, Hold toes with me?

Age is a state of old mind. It gets to a point where if you get old enough, you forget how old you are, and that’s the best thing. And then you walk around kind of like in a fog.

The partition separating life from death is so tenuous. The unbelievable fragility of our organism suggests a vision on a screen: a kind of mist condenses itself into a human shape, lasts a moment and scatters.

People think retiring is fun. Well, maybe, but if you have a certain kind of fire inside, there is no end in sight.

I love you the way rain falls on a sunny day- a kind of marvelous sadness.

The fact is that love is of two kinds, one which commands, and one which obeys. The two are quite distinct, and the passion to which the one gives rise is not the passion of the other.

Most people don’t walk around the tools to process pain and fear, that kind of discomfort. In most cases, it’s unbearable to look at it, feel it, and/or address it. It’s why I’m such a fan of self-help books.

Cowards have done good and kind actions, but a coward never pardoned.

I think everyone has a certain kind of formula in their life. When you deviate from that formula, you’re going to fail big or you’re gonna win big.