If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers...
When I made the drawing of the baobabs I was carried beyond myself by the inspiring force of urgent necessity.
Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.
How is it possible for one to own the stars?" "To whom do they belong?" the businessman retorted, peevishly. "I don't know. To nobody.
Because all the words in the world won't do much good if they're just rattling around in your head.
If you think someone is humble, never tell them so. You will unknowingly rob them of the very thing you admire.
It’s when I’m around some people that my entire vocabulary goes on vacation. Like now
Maybe they did what they had to do to live, and tried to get a little love and have a little fun before the darkness took them.
Each night, I close my eyes and dream. In the morning, I open my eyes again, but the dreaming doesn't stop.
She looked at me with those empty eyes, and I thought, I'm going to make sure I fill them up with something.
She meant to write: "Is Christy here yet?" Auto Correct turned it into: "Is crazy here yet?" For once Auto Correct got it right.
I wish my brain had an off switch. Maybe that way I could get some sleep.
Be what you are, all that you are. Wear yourself proudly. It will require that you draw a line, but that line in the sand is your courage.
I didn’t say you weren’t smart. I said you were stupid.” “I guess I’m too dumb to see the difference.
I know it's difficult in the beginning. But, listen. If you have the impulse to write, do yourself a favor, do the world a favor, and write.
Most days, writing simply requires work-ethic, discipline, clarity, focus, time. Other days...it will demand absolutely everything of you.
A writer writes. There are no exceptions to this reality. No excuses. Stop wasting time talking about your stories and get them on paper.
A watched pot never boils." It's the same with success. So? Throw that burner on HIGH and just keep on cooking. Dinner will be ready soon.
Lost in New York City. Not that I don't know where I am, but rather perplexed as to where I am going.
The restlessness and the longing, like the longing that is in the whistle of a faraway train. Except that the longing isn't really in the whistle—it is in you.
What is art if not a concentrated and impassioned effort to make something with the little we have, the little we see?
