If you are a dreamer come inIf you are a dreamer a wisher a liarA hope-er a pray-er a magic bean buyer...If youre a pretender come sit by my fireFor we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come inCome in

The act of prayer present an opportunity to communicate and connect to the Supreme beingGod.

When God requires us to surrender one dream its because He wants to hand us a bigger and better one.

Dreams are composed of many things my son. Of images and hopes of fears and memories. Memories of the past and memories of the future...

Cemeteries are full of unfulfilled dreams... countless echoes of could have and should have countless books unwritten countless songs unsung... I want to live my life in such a way that when my body is laid to rest it will be a well needed rest from a life well lived a song well sung a book well written opportunities well explored and a love well expressed.

TELL THE WORLD WHAT YOU INTEND TO DO BUT FIRST SHOW IT.This is the equivalent of saying deeds and not words are what count most.

I think that the idea of finding another person to share your life with is the most fascinating beautiful quest you could ever be on in life. And yes living your dreams is so important too and a lot of times Ive put that before everything else. But then you get to a place where the whole time youre living these dreams you look beside you to say to someone Hey isnt this so much fun And if theres no one there to say it to whats the point

Dreams and Happiness are...drugs. And the pain that follows is not less than a sharp knife...or a sharp-nail. It bleeds without blood. You just feel it. With every sense you have got on every single inch of earth in every tiny part of the minute you live. It compels you to feed...yourself...

Lord I believe help my unbelief... is the most natural and most human and most agonizing prayer in the gospels and I think it is the foundation prayer of faith.

Her world fragmented into dozens of sharp cutting shards shedding the salty blood and saltier tears that ringed the bitter cocktail of her despair. She was caterpillar and butterfly both caught in a cocoon of raw nerves and open sores she was insanity wrapped up in the thin transient wrappings of a temporary lucidity and she was afraid because an innate desire lay in the bottom reaches of her psyche for the very poison that was killing her.