“Not every day is awful.Not every day is good.Despite the way the hours passI’m living like I should.Not every day is all wrong.Not every day is right.At least I’m not a spider trying to scamper out of sight.Not every day is ideal.Not every day is bad.At any rate I have my senseseven if they’re mad.Not every day is happy.Not every day is glum.When sadness drags me in the dumpsA simple tune I hum.Not every day I smile.Not every day I frown.With effort, I can take a scowland turn it upside down.Not every day is crazy.Not every day is sane.If consequence nips at my heelsI don’t pass on the blame.Not every day is giddy.Not every day is blah.Yet I can still appreciatea giggle and guffaw.Not every day is timid.Not every day is proud.I may not be a dragonbut I roar about as loud.Not every day has rainbows.Not every day has rain.Despite the fact I’m stiff and sore,I’m not in chronic pain.On every day the sun shines,so every night I praythat I might see the morning lightand live another day.”

“Shepherds lift their heads,not to gaze at a new lightbut to hear angels.”

“There is no poetry without want. Desperate want.”

“Hallelujah songcarries on a gentle wind,heralding a king.”

“I write so others might contemplate things that are out of the ordinary. I write to make people feel—to cause laughter and tears and anger at injustice. I write so the world will imagine and wonder at crazy, incredible truths. I write to have a tiny bit of influence on a universal conscience.”

“For the real writers, every decision is either write or wrong.”

“I was breaking down, wanting to fade away and cry, yet I feared ever being invisible again. My head lowered to conceal my humiliation behind a curtain of hair where I trembled as if sobbing.“Hey, Gwen, it’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down.”I yearned to feel Daniel’s soft touch meet my temple and then trace along my ear, brushing back the hairs from my face. What I wanted was the comfort his caress always afforded me. He moved as if he would grant my wish, realizing at the last moment that neither of us possessed the power to touch the other.“Your hair, Gwen.”I refused to do what he wanted. I didn’t care for him to see the shame plainly visible in my features. But the next thing I knew, his blue eyes were staring up at me from the ground, a glare reflecting off his glasses. The guy had dropped his books to fall over for a clear view of my face. His desperation made me laugh.“It’s going to be okay, Gwen, I pro”

“Patience is seeing each step as a journey rather than seeing a journey as a thousand steps.”

“Oh, how terribly backwards, and yet sadly common, it is to sit scowling at family all the day long and then quickly put on a smile for strangers who drop by.”

“On Hallows Eve, we witches meetto broil and bubble tasty treatslike goblin thumbs with venom dip,crisp bat wings, and fried fingertips.We bake the loudest cackle crunch,and brew the thickest quagmire punch.Delicious are the rotting flieswhen sprinkled over spider pies.And, my oh my, the ogre brainsall scrambled up with wolf remains!But what I love the most, it’s true,are festered boils mixed in stew.They cook up oh so tenderly.It goes quite well with mugwort tea.So, don’t be shy; the cauldron’s hot.Jump in! We witches eat a lot!”

“I'm a sucker for curiosity's whims.Does that make me a cat person?”