“I am hell-bent on loving my hell.”

I’m not sure if you know this but your peace is not up for debate.

The truth is, I have always felt a little off-balance. Maybe each part of me exists in a  separate world.

I am enough. I am more than enough. I am plenty. Through and through. As I am.

The more I grow the more tender I become.

I am a safe space for myself.

There is a certain peace in privacy.

There is power in my peace and it is loud without sound.

If you ever forget your worth just ask me. I’ll remind you.

I gave my sadness a full name so that I stop thinking of her as an intruder and start acknowledging that I do have to learn how to live with her.

I will tell you one thing, though: I grew like hell from it.

Nothing comes easy for me but that makes me love it more.

The universe hears what you say, but it knows what you mean.

I can finally cry and let it be relief. My tears can be my medicine and not my poison.

I take great comfort in knowing that there are even better versions of myself I haven’t hugged yet.

Can we be easy on ourselves for once?

To cry means that you are feeling as much as you possibly can in that moment and that is exactly what I mean when I say you are alive.

My comedy is different every time I do it. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

There’s a strange beauty in her. She shines like hell.

There is probably no hell for authors in the next world – they suffer so much from critics and publishers in this.

I think quite often when you have a hell of a lot more money and time, as you very much do on a big studio film, you don’t necessarily have to make the decisions right there. You can always goback and reshoot it.

This person they make me out to be irritates the hell out of me as well.

Just because you’re a Believer, doesn’t mean your safe from the Hell-fire.

All heaven is interested in the cross of Christ, all hell terribly afraid of it, while men are the only beings who more or less ignore its meaning.

Women are beautiful. But some are made of hell.