When the door to my writing chamber gasps shut and the almost imperceptible sigh of a rose petal falls on my desk, I know that my muse is present.
Some books must be sipped slowly like a strong bourbon. Most books must be devoured more than once because as you age you distill more.
A writer will divine a metaphor from a pattern on a dress, or a gesture, because sunsets have been done before.
In order to grow, I promise you'll have to let go of some habits. 10 times out of 10, they'll be the habits you're most in love with.
All those other girls are cake...I'm Crème brûlée...Tiramisu, if you will. Just a few notches above.
Never accept yourself as a finished product. Be a finished product when you die. As long as you have breath in your lungs, expand yourself.
Some roses grow through concrete. Remember that.
Sometimes I think the Most High believes I can shoulder the weight of 1000 stars.
Every morning I look in the mirror and remind myself: "No one owes you sh*t!" In this way, I am never disappointed. Never placing blame.
Fruit falls when you shake the tree. You have to keep making things happen.
Lowkey punchdrunk off this Sangria-sweet love and all it’s prodigious trappings…
thighs made of hymns, I read 'em like I'm reading runes. Now tell me where my future lies...your neck, can I Savion on it?
1926