Anybody can become angry - that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.

In the midst of anger, jealousy, self-pity, a negative thought, or emotion, say: 'I love myself in this moment, just as I am'.

Do not believe those persons who say they have never been jealous. What they mean is that they have never been in love.

Love, friendship, respect, will never unite people as much as a common hatred for something.

Hatred is love frustrated.

In Me
If you're quiet in me you will hear
the cries of one terrified of rejection longing for protection
being stifled by
a woman on a mission crazed with ambition drunk with power and cocky with confidence.
Open your eyes because if you look closely into mine in me you can find
a hopelessly romantic damsel in distress longing for her knight in shining armor to treat her like a princess
being held at bay by
a bitterly cynical fiercely independent feminist whois stubborn and defensive and desperately wants to be treated as an equal
you know its crazy because in me you can see
an egotistical diva who knows she got it going on
being overshadowed by
the insecurities of a needy girl who sees herself as ugly and alone
every minute of every day in me I can feel
opposing forces pushing pulling back and forth and left and right putting forth a futile fight
I can only wait and see who will be the victor that will ultimately become me.

So writing is not just writing. It is also having a relationship with other writers. And don't be jealous, especially secretly. That's the worst kind. If someone writes something great, it's just more clarity in the world for all of us.

We cannot really love anybody with whom we never laugh.

Today I feel you all around me

Today I feel you all around me
It's almost like you're right there
You're in the warmth of the bedcovers
As I lie here reminiscing
You're in the scent of every guy
That passes me or walks my way
You're in the wind
As it blows back my hair
And plays on my skin like little fingertips
You're in each chord to all our songs
Helping each note stir a sadness in me
You fill the pages of my books
You're in the saltiness of my tears
You're the pain in my eyes and smile
And in my voice when I sing
And I feel you even now--
In the memories of a girl
Who knew love and lost it
In the heart of a girl
Who still looks around when she hears your name
In the love of a girl
Who will never forget what it feels like
To feel you

The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.