I started writing poetry and philosophy when I was 17 years old and my mind so was wild. Now I'm 56 and I often want to write like a child.
If I wouldn’t have spent so much time shooting spit wads at my English teacher, I’d know how to punctuate. Good thing I normally write poetry.
There are far too many silent sufferers. Not because they don't yearn to reach out, but because they've tried and found no one who cares.
Every now and then I sit and watch the sun rise to remind myself how it's done—peacefully, steadily, warmly, and in beautiful color.
Trust in the silent doers. It is far more difficult to put your dreams into action than into flowery words.
You pierce me with a look, a word, a gesture. And yet those same weapons could shield me from hurt if you so choose.
It's a waste of time worrying about something that worry won't fix; it's about as useful as trying to feed your pet rock.
Gratitude doesn't change the scenery. It merely washes clean the glass you look through so you can clearly see the colors.
Gratitude is the real treasure God wants us to find, because it isn't the pot of gold but the rainbow that colors our world.
One grateful thought is a ray of sunshine. A hundred such thoughts paint a sunrise. A thousand will rival the glaring sky at noonday - for gratitude is light against the darkness.
Mother nature changes her looks for the same reason any woman changes her looks—to be noticed.
It's good to look at life from the bottom up so you can see that things have risen above what they once were.
You were born and with you endless possibilities, very few ever to be realized. It's okay. Life was never about what you do, but what you do.
To punish someone for your own mistakes or for the consequences of your own actions, to harm another by shifting blame that is rightly yours; this is a wretched and cowardly sin.
A single act of kindness is like a drop of oil on a patch of dry skin—seeping, spreading, and affecting more than the original need.
When a person boldly declares, he might as well add on, , knowing that this spoken roadblock only serves to fuel a challenge in naturally stubborn souls.
We hunger after the sweet nectar of happiness without understanding that it is harvested from the flowering field of good deeds.
I'm starting to think this world is just a place for us to learn that we need each other more than we want to admit.
Christmas is like candy; it slowly melts in your mouth sweetening every taste bud, making you wish it could last forever.
Christmas is our annual reminder to —pondering celestial stars, to —serving those in need, and to —glorifying our Lord in humble prayer.
Happiness isn't reserved for privileged individuals. It is a state of mind that can neither be bought nor stolen nor traded; it is a liberty available to anyone.
