Edgar Allan Poe taught me that one can learn to trust the darkness, accept the unknown, and that there are mysteries that no mortal mind can apprehend — and that, perhaps, we are better off not knowing).
Oscar Wilde taught me to see comedy and beauty in the most precarious and hopeless of situations (and that most situations or events which humans take seriously are, in actuality, quite comedic).
Flannery O’Connor taught me that conviction is a strength and being grotesque is something that should be carried with grace.
Stephen King taught me that simply honing your skills and creating a good story is more important than pleasing the critics or attempting to perfect flawless prose.
The Bronte Sisters taught me that one can find the greatest worlds within oneself, and that imagination is a powerful force that, once tapped, can wield mighty things.
Emilie Autumn taught me that pain can be turned into something worthwhile, and that the things which make us broken also make us beautiful.
Maud Hart Lovelace taught me to always remember where I come from, and to see the world as I once did as a child: with wonder, curiousity, and joy.