Poetic

Our stories are ladders that make it easier for us to touch the stars. So climb and grab them. Keep climbing. Grab them.

At the core, none of us were meant to be common. We were born to be comets, darting across space and time — leaving our mark as we crash into everything.

Home is not where you are from. Home is where you are needed.

In its passivity and resignation, cynicism is a hardening, a calcification of the soul. Hope is a stretching of its ligaments, a limber reach for something greater.

Love is not like mass or energy — it is not conserved.

Sometimes it is the people who no one imagines anything of who will do the things that no one can imagine.

To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and possibility — all in one.

To be or not to be is not the question. The vital question is how to be and how not to be.

The highest joy is found in sending down roots. It's the things you chain yourself to that set you free.

Revolutions not in arms but in minds — more powerful and permanent and pervasive.

Don't assume that exclusive always and everywhere means better. It may only mean lonelier. There will always be folks hard selling you the life of the few: the private schools, private planes, private islands, private life. They are trying to convince you that hell is other people. Don't believe it. We are far more frequently each other's shelter and correction, the antidote to solipsism, and so many windows on this world.

There's a way that the force of disappointment can be alchemized into something that will paradoxically renew you. You either learn it or you're undone by it.