“The death of a dream can in fact serve as the vehicle that endows it with new form, with reinvigorated substance, a fresh flow of ideas, and splendidly revitalized color.”

Groping their way through suffocating shadows of political turmoil, economic oppression, military mayhem, starvation, and disease.

Writing for me is a form of spiritual discipline and creative vision, a means of being in the world and giving one’s love to it without compromise or dilution.

First gave in to the urge to pray to their sense of something greater than themselves and interpreted certain signs or events or silences as responses to those prayers.

Know yourself fearlessly (even quietly) for all the things you are.

A horn of plenty spills from your hands into the starved lives of millions.

Unless you are here: this garden refuses to exist. Pink dragonflies fall from the air and become scorpions scratching blood out of rocks.

Someone had to embrace positive beginnings before anyone could celebrate successful conclusions or continuations.

Art gives its vision to beauty not always recognized. And it surrenders freely — whatever power it possesses to every sincere soul that seeks it. But above all else–it presents us with the gift of ourselves.

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela might be measured in part by the profound and unique gestures made by people in different countries to honor his life upon learning of his death.

With its leaves so rich and heavy with elation and its crimson face made brighter with visions of divinity the shadow of a certain rose looks just like an angel eating light.

The singular historic moment millions now celebrate could have been tragically lost to guerrilla decontextualization.

Yet continuously occupies the same bed or pathway, and accommodates life’s endings with the same musical grace with which it accommodates

Operating to implement a balance and give us an opportunity to turn the horrors we’ve forced upon each other into something more conducive to sustaining at least minimal degrees of sanity and love.

An outrageous instinct to love and be loved executed your brain every hour on the hour.

Dare to love yourself as if you were a rainbow with gold at both ends.

If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, If I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience… would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?

I personally think my sister is so stunning without makeup. And she doesn’t wear that much makeup because she has the best skin color.

We judge on the basis of what somebody looks like, skin color, whether we think they’re beautiful or not. That space on the Internet allows you to converse with somebody with none of those things involved.

Lipstick is iconic. It’s the one product that marks out an era, and a certain lip colour can define a season. It makes me feel more ‘done’.

I shed skin after skin, seeking my true colors, expecting a rainbow or a stripe of black, but all I get are maps of red. We are all human underneath.

Obviously black matches with everything.

How your words and pauses have become mine. How you are a full stop to my every line. You have colored me with your thoughts, red and white. The tinge of my blood and the pure divine.

Life should be black and white with no grey in between.

What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.