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Our little solos are a note in an immense chorus vibrating grandly through the universe, a chorus which accepts and harmonizes the whir of the cricket and the long drum-roll of the stars.

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Gather the stars if you wish it so Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years. And then… Loosen your hands, let go and say good-bye. Let the stars and songs go. Let the faces and years go. Loosen your hands and say good-bye.

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Poetry is the arithmetic of the easiest way and the primrose path, matched up with foam-flanked horses, bloody knuckles, and bones, on the hard ways to the stars.

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The lunar flights give you a correct perception of our existence. You look back at Earth from the moon, and you can put your thumb up to the window and hide the Earth behind your thumb. Everything youve ever known is behind your thumb, and that blue-and-white ball is orbiting a rather normal star, tucked away on the outer edge of a galaxy.

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Most of my ukulele heroes were traditional players from Hawaii, like Eddie Kamae and Ohta-san. There may not be uke stars in popular culture, but there are certainly pop stars that play uke – George Harrison, Eddie Vedder, Taylor Swift, Train, and Paul McCartney.

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Every now and then the stars align, <br>Boy and girl meet by the great design, <br>Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones? <br>Everybody told me love was blind, <br>Then I saw your face <br>and you blew my mind, <br>Finally you and me are the lucky ones, this time

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I once had a dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events some of those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But I didn’t really mind, because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

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The candle glimmers but an hour. The night<br>Looms in its ancient hunger. Would you know<br>The tragedy of human love and need?<br>Gaze on the stars, then on a brother’s face!

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My homies that are around me never give me that ‘star pass’. I’ve hung out with some stars who are playing basketball and everyone let’s them score all the baskets. Shooting pool, they let them make all the shots. My homies don’t let me get away with that.

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I offer gentle understanding to myself. I position myself in love, not fear. I look behind me with forgiveness. I look forward with festive anticipation. I embrace this holy moment and assert, &quot;Now. This moment is the moment to love, the moment to serve, the moment to seize the legacy instead of the small. Now. Now I will live large, love boldly, reach to the edges of my unfurled heart and fully enrolled hope.&quot;

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PEOPLE HAVE WANTED TO narrate since first we banged rocks together &amp; wondered about fire. There’ll be tellings as long as there are any of us here, until the stars disappear one by one like turned-out lights.

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I’m a good example of someone who can come to Hollywood and keep their feet on the ground with all the rock stars, all the drama that goes with being here. It’s still important to pump your own gas and to be able to vacuum.

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The rock-star thing became very destructive, like, wow. I didn’t know what I was doing. I just kind of became that thing. The hair, that rock-star kind of lifestyle, just living a dream. It kind of took over. It started out very innocent and then I turned into a cartoon character. And I started to feel like a cartoon character.

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A sister is the cure for swollen heads and ego trips. One may a star, a Chief Executive-famous and rich and beautiful. But one’s sister has the family photo album. And a long, long memory. And a tendency to wink at one on Top Occasions.

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The dead do walk and haunt and crawl into your bed at night. Ghosts sneak into your head when you’re not looking. Stars line up and volcanoes birth out bits of glass that foretell the future. Poison berries make girls stronger, but sometimes kill them. If you howl at the moon and swear on your blood, anything you desire will be yours. Be careful what you wish for. There’s always a catch.

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If I had lady-spider legs, I would weave a sky where the stars lined up. Matresses would be tied down tight to their trucks, bodies would never crash through windshields. The moon would rise above the wine-dark sea and give babies only to maidens and musicians who had prayed long and hard. Lost girls wouldn’t need compasses or maps. They would find gingerbread paths to lead them out of the forest and home again. They would never sleep in silver boxes with white velvet sheets, not until they were wrinkled-paper grandmas and ready for the trip.

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I kind of wanted someone to rearrange the stars so they spelled out his words. I needed them big and bright, and somewhere I could see then when things felt dark. I love you. And I’m so, so proud.

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She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. In her hands was a sign that said RED-HEADS RULE! with a little crown painted in the corner and tiny stars everywhere. I knew I was the only redhead in the competition, and I noticed that her hair and mine were very nearly the same shade.