“there are only so many thingsthat you can fix with your hands....What they don't realize is I am not a thing to fix.”

“When he asks you whyyou chose alone all these years.Tell him that its becauseyou love with all claws and bared teeth.Apologize for the scratchesthat you will leave on his skin;ask forgiveness for t...”

“He loved me like thick molasses on a summer's day. Pure, sweet, sticky, warm, dark.”

“Cultivate the distance. Nurture the silence. Let it grow until your fragile heart is as far and inaccessible as his marbled emotions. Don't talk. Don't move. Sit still. If he shows up, lie. Believe...”

“But when I think of us,in the quiet when I'm on my own,I think of Beauty and the Beast.I, being the beast, and you being the last beautiful thing in this city.”

“Decades from now, my grandchild is going to be a poet... And she's going to write about how she's a living testament to how her grandmother made love to hurricane and calmed the storm.”

“When you find yourself writing, reading, or listening the delivery of words when spoken? You know the melody of wordplay. & I love Wordplay”

“A thousand lips, a thousand eyes,a thousand hearts will read these words,as you read them, graze them, this moment. Thousands will utter them into the abyss, someday, perhaps for years to come; lou...”

“The will of life and death, never share the same motivation...we all know that love is the ultimate motive to die for...but lets not kid ourselves......we all know the ultimate motive to rise back ...”

“The spirit, my love,is stronger than laughter,stronger than the hungry pantingof reckless lionsthat paw and shuffle underneath the canopy of bowed trees,stronger than the pace of a dying heart, tha...”

“A prose that is altogether alive demands something of the reader that the ordinary novel reader is not prepared to give.”

“Prose divides shame into stations.”

“He lifted his arm that had been resting on her shoulders and gazed at the words she had written on his hand. He had been branded as cattle are branded to show whom they belong to. The cold mountain...”