“Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”

The best way to write poetry, letting things come.

To seem natural rather than to be natural.

War is something of man’s own fostering, and if all mankind renounces it, then it is no longer there.

Walking with her man, Lost in a dream

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.

A little Consideration, a little Thought for Others, makes all the difference.

Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.

It gets you nowhere if the other person’s tail is only just in sight for the second half of the conversation.

Tigers don’t like honey.

I was walking along looking for somebody, and then suddenly I wasn’t anymore.

Let’s begin by taking a smallish nap or two.

Drinking your milk and talking at the same time may result in your having to be patted on the back and dried for quite a long time afterwords.

One of the advantages of being disorganized is the joy of discovery.

I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget.

Be sure to put the knocker fairly low on your door in case a very small friend drops by.

Chess has this in common with making poetry; that the desire for it comes upon the amateur in gusts.

What breaks my heart is suffering of any kind.

I wish I wake up with an empty head and without the dreams that still smell like you.

Dawn breaks and this heart breaks, too. Yet the sun continues to rise and this heart of mine knows only of the journey down, like an eclipse of the heart.

If the heart is meant to be broken, then it is also meant to be healed.

I give forgiveness like salt and pepper in a restaurant – Turn my world upside down and it’ll pour out of me, flowing freely, until I’m empty.

Lies feel like nails on a chalk board scraping down the marror of my spine and truth feels like harmonious melodies gifted from the hands of the divine.

I compare myself to the leaves; dead, yet dancing in the breeze. Is it meant to hurt this much, falling from the trees?

Don’t you believe true love can heal a broken heart?