“You’re holding the world and its woes. But in the end who’s holding you?”

You come back to ask me if I’m happy, and it shows me its you who isn’t.

We don’t belong to anyone. Half the time we don’t even belong to ourselves.

He says he wants to take me to Paris – but I see Amsterdam in his eyes.

Boys with skeletons in their closets – they make skeletons out of girls.

Lets admit it: we all play the game of hide and seek fairly well.

Please – stop living in boxes where you can’t breathe.

I want your madness, only if you promise to be mad about me.

I love things that smell like fire and taste like fumes: you.

We both chased our dreams and our dreams chased us. Yet we forgot to chase each other.

He wears a smile as bright as the heaven he fell from.

He’s my red adrenaline sky, but I just prayer he never paints me blue.

Its always the quiet ones who love the loudest.

I turned us into poetry because this is how we remain.

You give me butterflies in a stomach full of moths.

She’s a architect – building castle out things that nearly destroyed her.

Darling, it’s okay to fall again; these bones of yours they already know how to mend.

It is only by prudence, wisdom, and dexterity, that great ends are attained and obstacles overcome. Without these qualities nothing succeeds.

A Harvard study has shown that in fifteen cases in history where a rising and an established power interacted, ten ended in war.

I have to keep going to find out ultimately what is the matter with it in the end.

I know where I wanna end up. I’m ready to go, and I’m ready to learn. I’m ready to build, and I’m ready to establish my longevity.

For me, becoming isn’t about arriving somewhere or achieving a certain aim. I see it instead as forward motion, a means of evolving, a way to reach continuously toward a better self. The journey doesn’t end.

The essence of childhood, of course, is play, which my friends and I did endlessly on streets that we reluctantly shared with traffic.

The essence of childhood, of course, is play, which my friends and I did endlessly on streets that we reluctantly shared with traffic.

What do you want to be when you grow up? As if growing up is finite. As if at some point you become something and that’s the end.