When I make mistakes, I hope I’m big enough to own them. When my views have flaws, I hope I’ll change when I am shown them. When my words cause rifts, I hope I’ll find the words to mend them. When my poems run long, I hope I’ll have the

There is a gap you may not mind between the stars when they’re aligned for constellations must embrace the need for light to have some space.

It’s not about how hard you fall or if you landed well. What counts is where you are right now compared to where you fell.

Writing may not pay the rent. But those who write with good intent Do not regret the time they spent.

My best decisions come when I consult my conscience first. When I don’t make that ask before I act, I do my worst. I try to slow things down to let my conscience choose my course And walk back steps I’ve taken that my conscience can’t endorse.

Don’t waste your days with grievance. Time is better spent on grace. Save a moment for forgiveness and compassion, just in case.

A couple spins around the sun is all we get before we’re done. A fleeting chance to seize the day before the light revolves away.

To coalesce, a book encages unkempt words in bounded pages.

We need not repeat the ventriloquist’s voice. We don’t have to dance to the puppeteer’s strings. We’re all on this stage and we all have a choice: To follow along, or to do our own things.

Your wit is lightning; mine slow burns. Your brain retains while mine relearns. Your words make sense; mine just make do. But I don’t mind, cause I’ve got you.

It seems these days the best advice is what we most ignore. And when we know we’re doing wrong, we often do it more.

If you sweat them, words can shake you. If you let them, words can break you. If you fight them, words can jade you. If you write them, words can aid you.

Every word you say, once said, is carved into your past; Be careful with your future words in case they are your last.

We’re specks upon a spinning rock that loops around the sun What counts is how we treat our fellow specks before we’re done.

There’s not much risk of flying high if you stay on the ground. There’s little chance of being heard if you don’t make a sound. There’s not much hope of making waves if you won’t leave the shore. So don’t live life avoiding what makes life worth living for.

When your bookshelf hits its limit, it will buckle from the strain; lots of books can sink your shelving, but they’ll also lift your brain.