“Find my hand in the darkness and if we cannot find the light, we will always make our own.”

All I know, all I can comprehend of the mathematics of a life, are the times your hand is inside my hand, and the times it is not.

Some days I wake up and all I feel are the fractures in the flesh that covers the only me I’ve ever known.

Look up more than down. See more than say. Listen more than speak. Hope more than dread. Believe more than criticize. Yes more than no. No more than maybe. Laugh more than cry. Love more than hate. See. More. See.

Just keep waking up, dragging yourself out of bed. It will get better.

I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.

I find you in storms, I feel you in the lightning, I miss you in rain.

You are exactly Precisely and perfectly What I waited for.

Will you tolerate the strangeness inside of me, the quirks of my soul?

Are they beautiful? The lines left from suffering, Scars of emptiness.

When I’m an old man, I don’t want to count the years, we forgot to share.

Don’t ever tell me I’m broken if you will not be the glue, and please don’t point out the fractures if that’s all you’re allowed to do.

And you loved me like I was, and had always been, the answer and the question did not, and would never, matter.

There is no difference: Love is love and love is love. We are all the same.

I want the light filtered down through the trees painting flesh like a mosaic and filling up the dark in me. I want to see how sunset decorates your hair.

I am so tired of waking to the blank canvas of morning and realizing it won’t be painted with you.

I promise to plant kisses like seeds on your body, so in time you can grow to love yourself as I love you.

The first thing I ever got my hands on was Andy Griffith’s ‘What It Was, Was Football.’ I was fascinated with the fact that every syllable made it funny, and I would laugh even though I didn’t know what any of it meant.

To me, it’s offensive. A bouncer likes to get physical, likes to put his hands on people.

A lot of people cry and complain and put their hand out and beg. It never goes well.

I came from a real tough neighborhood. I put my hand in some cement and felt another hand.

Benefits ought to be handed ought drop by drop, so that they may be relished the more.

I like having my hands in the clay. I like the movie-making process.

I love having my hands in the dirt. It is never a science and always an art.

I think that they go hand in hand – notoriety and people lookin at ya. If they look at ya, either you look like a million dollars, or you don’t.