“Watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you.”

When writing about oneself, one must strive to be truthful. Truth is more important than modesty.

I cannot for the life of me understand why small children take so long to grow up. I think they do it deliberately, just to annoy me.

It is preferable to incur a mild punishment than to perform an onerous task.

A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men.

I do have a blurred memory of sitting on the stairs and trying over and over again to tie one of my shoelaces, but that is all that comes back to me of school itself.

Human ‘beans’ is the only animals that is killing their own kind.

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly.

I began to realize how simple life could be if one had a regular routine to follow with fixed hours, a fixed salary, and very little original thinking to do.

lalalalalalallalalallalalalal have nothing to say.

If I had my way, I’d remove January from the calendar altogether and have an extra July instead.

It’s a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.

Somewhere inside all of us is the power to change the world.

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, go throw your TV set away, and in its place you can install, a lovely bookshelf on the wall.

I understand what you’re saying, and your comments are valuable, but I’m gonna ignore your advice.

You can write about anything for children as long as you’ve got humour.

For me, the pleasure of writing comes with inventing stories.

I saved a spider from death. Stuck on the smooth white curvature, Almost drowning in the bathtub of regret. Eight eyes looking up at me, a face he will never forget.

Can’t find my soul in my eyes Must’ve been drowned out by night cries.

A sky is full of stars. Still, I am gazing at her eyes.

Your eyes stole all my words away.

Her eyes shone with the radiance of vibrant life reflecting the blossoms of her heart.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say – Do I see, what is me? Or did his eyes lead me astray?

You greet people and are fooled by their smiles. I greet people and I’m haunted by the pain in their eyes.

Your eyes call me home, they beckon me from the sea.