“French press me against the wall and coffee and of course French kiss.”

In love with September’s sun the season that begins all witchy things and stirs the soul.

It’s her black wings that make her beautiful.

I was born to chase peace and love wild things. I was born a beautiful bohemian paradox.

The world needs more fierce warriors who are soft and kind.

He is the sun melting the snow in my heart.

I know a beautiful soul when I feel one. The empath in me honors the authentic in you.

Once our souls collided and caught fire, there was no turning back.

She was the night, in love with the stars, always chasing the moon.

Words alone mean little. Show me your eyes; that’s where I’ll decipher your truth from your lies.

Undress my soul one petal at a time.

She can be dainty and still have claws. She can be sweet and still make fire. That’s her magic.

I think my soul was born with wings; it’s always restless, it won’t sit still.

When I told you to ruin me I wasn’t referring to my heart.

My soul is wild but my heart is loyal and true.

Some people help you see the world differently, those are my kind of people.

I have no room for monsters and cowards claiming to be something they’re not, who lie to get what they want.

I won’t kiss you. It might get to be a habit and I can’t get rid of habits.

Hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you.

Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving. We become beautiful people when we give whatever we can give: a smile, a handshake, a kiss, an embrace, a word of love, a present, a part of our life…all of our life.

A woman should be able to kiss a man beautifully and romantically without any desire to be either his wife or his mistress.

I want to be rich in all the foods I’ve tasted and all the places I’ve been and all the people I’ve kissed.

August died but summer lived on with your kiss.

Our life is a time in which sadness and joy kiss each other at every moment.

Such alchemy your mystic eyes like a drug I’m addicted to your fiery kisses.