Friends... they cherish one another's hopes. They are kind to one another's dreams.

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:"I deeply sympathize."With sobs and tears he sorted outThose of the largest size,Holding his pocket-handkerchiefBefore his streaming eyes.

My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.

I used to stutter really badly. Everybody thinks it's funny. And it's not funny. It's not.

We didn't try to talk. We really didn't need to. Later we would hear from one another all the details of the four miserable days of separation. For now it was enough just to be together again.

When tragedy happens a real family pulls together, mine ripped apart.

Mankind cannot suffer anywhere without it bringing sorrow to other hearts.

He must be suffering, too. She had noted the weary sag of his shoulders, the quivering lips, the tear- filled eyes. Somehow she had never thought of him as hurting- of being capable of understanding how she felt.

When they were done, the stones lay heaped upon the still form. The crowd dispersed like crows flying from empty bones. The elders picked up their robes and walked away. The mob was now silent. No one met the gaze of his neighbor. They drifted away, until only Ezra stood at one side, Saul on the other.

The work in Iraq is difficult and it is dangerous. Like most Americans, I see the images of violence and bloodshed. Every picture is horrifying, and the suffering is real.

I used to let other people's struggles affect my happiness. If they weren't happy, there was no way I was going to be happy. The opposite was also true: If I wasn't happy, I didn't want anyone around me to be happy.

Lonely, ain't it? Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain't that something? A secondhand lonely.