“You can’t give your heart to a wild thing.”

The wind is us– it gathers and remembers all our voices, then sends them talking and telling through the leaves and the fields.

Writing stopped being fun when I discovered the difference between good writing and bad and, even more terrifying, the difference between it and true art. And after that, the whip came down.

I always write the end of everything first. I always write the last chapters of my books before I write the beginning. Then I go back to the beginning. I mean, it’s always nice to know where you’re going is my theory.

Really being friends is the most important part, I think, of any relationship.

Friendship is a pretty full-time occupation if you really are friendly with somebody. You can’t have too many friends because then you’re just not really friends.

Past certain ages or certain wisdoms it is very difficult to look with wonder; it is best done when one is a child; after that, and if you are lucky, you will find a bridge of childhood and walk across it.

It’s better to look at the sky than live there.

To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make.

It’s a scientific fact that if you stay in California you lose one point of your IQ every year.

How do I look so young? Quite simple: a complete vegetable diet, 12 hours sleep a night, and lots and lots of make-up.

Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act.

The enemy was anyone who was someone he wanted to be or who had anything he wanted to have.

Good luck and believe me, dearest Doc – it’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

The brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface.

I thought of the future, and spoke of the past.

We all, sometimes, leave each other there under the skies, and we never understand why.

In the depths of the night, fear grips my heart. It paralyzes my mind. But most of all, I feel very, very alone

Oh, thank you love With all my heart and soul I thank you love Each day that comes and goes I thank you love I thank you ’cause you gave me true love

Meeting you was life-changing so was losing you.

You need to keep people close. You need to give them access to your heart.

Don’t write what you think people want to read. Find your voice and write about what’s in your heart.

By regarding ourselves with kindness, we begin to dissolve the identity of an isolated, deficient self. This creates the grounds for including others in an unconditionally loving heart.

Of course, in a novel, people’s hearts break, and they die and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us.

The Sun, the hearth of affection and life, pours burning love on the delighted earth.