I believe poor people are good people, except the ones that are mean. . .
In my hometown, the sky seemed endless. . . but there was nothing to see.
If you truly want to escape the ordinary, you'll simply need to keep evolving. Whether what you seek is above or below.
If you really do love her, don’t look away, no matter what happens. No matter what you see, no matter what you learn about her, don’t look away. Once you got her in your embrace, don’t let go. Once you decide you love someone, that’s your responsibility.
The world isn't as bad as you think.
Reality is such a pain. Those of us who were fed up with that kind of reality decided to remake it. We’d set up a partition, separate what’s important to us from what was trash, put only the things we loved on our side, and got rid of the rest.
I don’t believe in god. There’s no proof he exists. In a world where there isn’t even proof of the future, the past exists. Even if it’s tainted with misunderstandings and delusions, if the people themselves believe in it, the past is the truth to them. And, if you base your actions or your life around it, in a way, it’s a type of god itself.
Creativity is something which proceeds from within, out of immeasurable and inexplicable depths, not from without, not from the world's necessity. The very desire to make the creative act understandable, to find a basis for it, is failure to comprehend it. To comprehend the creative act means to recognize that it is inexplicable and without foundation.
When I was younger, the people making the sacrifice were my parents. It's not a cheap sport. Luckily, I had parents who made a lot of life sacrifices so I could continue in gymnastics.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them,-- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun.
Tone is a very difficult thing. You can't write tone, I don't think. You can try - you certainly try. I write too, so I know I'm trying desperately to communicate to whoever's going to direct my pieces, the way I see the humor. But it's very difficult.