I watched an artist battle his demons, and I understood completely.

If love is the current, then let prayer be the tide — carrying us home to each other and to Him.

Upon the shores of Biltwurt, Entwhistle in Eastern Wysterica was found a tiny blue gem.

The first real poem I ever write, will be in skin.

All that is gold does not glitter; all that wanders is not lost.

We all have secret identities— the question is, how interesting can we be with them?

Sometimes, love burns too brightly to be held in the palm.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

After the fire and flood, the gardeners returned.

Some find themselves only after they are lost.