"Life is like a ten-speed bicycle. Most of us have gears we never use." - Charles M. Schulz

"The very mystery of him excited her curiosity like a door that had neither lock nor key." - Gone with the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell

"It is perfectly okay to write garbage--as long as you edit brilliantly." - C. J. Cherryh

"Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule." - Stephen King

"Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." - E. L. Doctorow

"I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil." - Truman Capote

"Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret." - Matthew Arnold

"If you write one story, it may be bad; if you write a hundred, you have the odds in your favor." - Edgar Rice Burroughs

The falling in love was replaced by the falling of my mind, my issues too much to bear. I know, my angel, that if you knew about them you would want to ground yourself on my earth and carry me. I could not bear to see you unable to fly, the weight of my concerns being such a heavy burden.

Such nonchalance in the face of danger to him and his men was too irresponsible for words. In frustration, he slammed the map onto the table, scattering notes and knocking the precious compass to the ground. She glared at him, but did not move. She was in charge of the mission and was well aware of the risks and the rewards. Lifting her chin, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, as if to remind him that he was only a hired hand.

Being twenty-five years old, I have had a fair amount of friendships as well as relationships. Both type of "-ships" are of equal importance in my heart. But, as odd as it sounds, I hold friends at an arms length, where as a person I'm in relation to, I tend to be more exclusive and intimate with.

          I, therefore, proclaim that a friendship is a finite game, and that a relationship is an infinite game.

Seven years of misery had passed. Now rumors were being whispered under the fern. It was said the one who should be king would return in the spring. There were once many who thought Pwyll was the one, but his leaving crushed their hopes. Some were kind and said he had no choice. Others said he was a coward and not fit to rule. A few who were closer to the truth, were saying, he followed his desire and not his duty. Some versions of that theory were more crudely put.

“Go ahead kid, open the bag.”
“What’s in it?” I asked; my ten-year-old curiosity piqued.
“What do you think is in it?” The strange man responded.
“It looks empty”
“To the naked eye, to the unimaginative, to the dreamless, it appears empty.”
The man swept his fingers down his jaw line and pulled his black goatee to a point.

I will eat the fruit so good and sweet,
no suffering, no hunger, no reason to weep,

sweetest honey, milk so pure,
a peaceful life and pleasure for sure,

Belief will grow,
Where the sun shines,
Where the rain bows,
And where shadows hide,
In the hearts and souls,
Of every child that grows,

What can we do to restore the hope in this community, in this city, and in this world? The question we’re all asking is ‘what went wrong and where do we go from here?’ But know that you are not alone in this world and the answers may not come right away, but its coming, we just have to keep the faith.

Yes

Earth will turn,

night and day.

Sun will burn,

anyway.