A world ends when its metaphor has died.
How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?
He'd said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad.
There were different kinds of strength. I knew that now. It didn't always come from a knife or a willingness to fight. Sometimes it came from endurance, where the well ran deep and quiet. Sometimes it came from compassion and forgiveness.
I never belonged anywhere until I met you.
He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
Have you ever watched a child learning to walk? Before this week, I never had, but there's a certain grace to it. Well, if not grace, then tenacity. Fall down nine times--get up ten. And the tenth time you get where you're going, you don't stop, not for obstacles, not for other people telling you to stop. You don't listen to anything but that inner voice until you arrive where you want to be.
It is still open to question whether psychology is a natural science, or whether it can be regarded as a science at all.
I might paraphrase Churchill and say: never have I received so much for so little.
When you write a song it's sometimes in a desperate moment whn you can't really articulate it. What I love about lyrics is what T. S. Eliot said: 'Good poetry is felt before it is heard. ' I'm a believer in that. It's those moments when you sit yourself down, and talk to yourself in the mirror.
My people had used music to soothe slavery's torment or to propitiate God, or to describe the sweetness of love and the distress of lovelessness, but I knew no race could sing and dance its way to freedom.