Everything I own in my closet has a story. Stuff is not just stuff - things were given to me with love.

We cannot afford to lose any more people as a result of hatred.

Never allow other people to classify you based on your past and current circumstances, where you were born, your experiences, your gender, or your race.

I want people to know that they are the masters, the queens, kings, and gods of their own story.

My formal speaking career began before a group of 10 third-graders. We drew pictures of my home in Rwanda. I told them about my mother's huge garden and our mango tree. The lessons I taught were simple. Play nicely. Take care of plants. Take care of people.

My experiences have shown me that when an opportunity bigger than you comes along and you feel unprepared and doubtful, it is important to permit those emotions and let that energy drive you and inspire you to move forward.

There are a lot of great people everywhere. And there are also a lot of not so great people.

All that I have achieved has been possible not only because of my own strength and perseverance, gained through hardship, but also through other people's support and belief in me.

Forgiveness allowed me to wash my burdened past away.

Sharing is wonderful, but giving - I give, you take - often maintains the power status quo.

After my final semester at Yale in December of 2013, I made a scary choice. Instead of looking for work - feeling over-read and underweight - that for a few months I would go wherever the wind carried me. I would become a student of the world, and I would eat.

Always strive to be a better you for you and for other.

I was six years old when the conflict started in Rwanda.

I truly hope readers learn to believe in their imaginations and their ability to shape their own lives. That's what 'The Girl Who Smiled Beads' means to me.

We are all neighbors. Be kind. Be gentle.

I want to tap into everyone's senses, to touch on our human sensibility.

The world is part of us, and we are part of the world. Even through the smallest acts, we can demonstrate that. I believe in the human spirit, in the kindness in all of us, and I am hopeful for this world.

I'm still coping with my trauma, but coping by trying to find different ways to heal it rather than hide it.

Sharing presumes and creates equality.

There are millions of people, refugees, who have experienced the same conflicts and struggles I did. They have the same potential to defy the odds and achieve great things.

As a child growing up in refugee camps, life taught me that many things were impossible. My older sister, Claire, taught me otherwise when her strength and resilience made the impossible possible in the way she worked, behaved, and took control of our lives.

It occurred to me that memorials shouldn't be grand. If you really want to honor the memory of a tragedy, you shouldn't create areas of calm reflection. You should make people uncomfortable. Put them in the shoes of those who perpetrated and those who suffered. Then ask, would they be able to forgive in these situations?

One of my fondest memories growing up in Rwanda was seeing everyone participating in community-building activities. This happened every Saturday at the end of month. People work together in cleaning streets, planting trees, and take care of each other by facilitating productive conversations and actions that are beneficial for the society.

No matter what is happening in your life, you always offer tea.