Quotes from Dr. SunWolf

"Life is too short," she panicked, "I want more." He nodded slowly, "Wake up earlier."

Flowers whisper "Beauty!" to the world, even as they fade, wilt, fall.

"Take your shoes off," purred the ocean waves.

The colors of a fresh garden salad are so extraordinary, no painter's pallet can duplicate nature's artistry.

Give crayons. Adults are disturbingly impoverished of these magical dream sticks.

Yearning for sun and starlight, roses and winter, together.

Some things can only be understood when you're in a tree house. With a pile of warm chocolate chip cookies. And a book.

During the darkest indigo midnight, yet will countless stars blossom.

People overestimate the pleasure they'll get from having more stuff. This does not apply to new rose bushes, crayons, or yarn stashes.

Tarry a moment to watch the chaos of a playground, crayola-colored shirts of running children, all trying out their wings.

unplug iPod music stops abruptly cricket song instead

Some days, we just need to turn the quiet up.

Sometimes, eating a thick slice of chocolate fudge cake with ice cream makes you a better person.

A knitter only appears to be knitting yarn. Also being knitted are winks, mischief, sighs, fragrant possibilities, wild dreams.

Children raced outside. She surveyed their trail — traces of sticky fingerprints across everything, like wee poems.

The paradox of gifts: I know what I have given you. I do not know what you have received.

You do not have the right to quit trying. (The universe wobbles when you do.) You have the right to quit Toxic People. (They're contagious.)

Sometimes, we need a few people in our lives who will calmly call our bluff.

There's always something that you can't pin down with words. Words fall flat all the time — look at the word dust around you.

To whoever invented fantasy, redwood trees, and apple pie for breakfast: well done.

Whatever my day may have lacked, yet I have tonight's pearl moon.

Watching a child's laughter teach a candle's flame how to dance.

"Most poems are never finished," (I was defensive). He sighed: "No, most poems are never started."

Every scowling face also contains the shapes of engaging smiles, just waiting to be released.