“I hate when I’m nervous my pointer finger won’t go down.”

I don’t even know what to say, performing at an awards show was one of my biggest dreams.

I’m excited to be growing as an artist and doing unexpected things.

Be kind and spread love. I have been seeing a lot of negativity which makes me sad.

I can’t even begin to explain how grateful I am to have such beautiful and inspiring people in my life.

My heart goes out to all black people who have been mistreated and feeling like this their entire lives.

I love my mom with all my heart and am so grateful for all that she does for me.

My tweet game has been lacking.

We all go through feelings of excitement, depression, happiness, stress, love, and the list goes on. 

I’ve made a lot of sacrifices in pursuit of my dreams and even though I gave up a lot, I wouldn’t change a thing.

I continue coupling a plate of silver with one of zinc, and always in the same order, and place between each of these couples a moistened disk. I continue to form a column. If the column contains about twenty of these couples of metal, it will be capable of giving to the fingers several small shocks.

The only thing that it is advisable to know in any language is the numerals; and even there, you can do a lot with the fingers.

My two fingers on a typewriter have never connected with my brain. My hand on a pen does. A fountain pen, of course. Ball-point pens are only good for filling out forms on a plane.

Tracing my fingertips over these open wounds that you carelessly open up, just to be amused; You pick at my sorrow while all I do is care for you.

Every honest miller has a golden thumb.

I’d rather be more of the hippie country chick – as in, instead of pointing a finger, just maybe saying, ‘We’re all screw-ups. We’re all in this kind of together. We’re all just figuring this out.’

I burned my own damn finger pokin’ someone else’s fire.

There is something truer and more real, than what we can see with the eyes, and touch with the finger.