“Love is a child with a gun in her hand.”

I knew I loved you before I understood what that meant.

All I really know is whatever the cost you’re worth it.

I spent a lifetime building shrine to things that can’t love me back. (music, poetry, you)

My body has always been a stranger. And it aches in a language I don’t understand.

And again I wake up hoping today is the day I don’t miss you.

I don’t know how else to say it. I will love you for the rest of my life.

Of all the people I’ve been the man you loved is the only one I miss.

Maybe letting go isn’t all that different to loving you.

I swear my bones can feel it whenever you speak my name.

What a gentle curse: to still want you after all we’ve been.

She spoke with so much hope, the future dancing on her lips like a flame.

Her smile is an open flame and I have a paper heart.

It was always you who felt like water when my whole body was a flame.

Just because the pain is comfortable doesn’t mean you have to wear it.

Some days survival is all the living I can do.

There’s a weight to it, this missing you.

Fairy tales have always got to have something a bit scary for children – as long as you make them laugh as well.

Racism is still with us. But it is up to us to prepare our children for what they have to meet, and, hopefully, we shall overcome.

I’ve found what makes children happy doesn’t always prepare them to be courageous, engaged adults.

Until you have kids, you can’t imagine how much you could possibly love a human being.

Apart from the fact that your physical ability starts to decline, I also think someone in their fifties being childlike becomes a little sad. You’ve got to be careful.

What makes you a man is not the ability to make a child, it’s the courage to raise one.

Only children tell the whole truth, you know. That’s what makes them children.

Children and young people are the future; they are our strength; they are what keep us moving forward. They are the ones in whom we put our hope.