“I keep falling, and feeling, and loving too much, but isn’t feeling it all existence.”

She’s a beautiful wildness on fire.

I just like good souls, knowing them, being one, it’s kind of all that really matters.

Patience with how your heart wanders, you will find your way.

All that destiny in those wild eyes, and so much passion in that wild heart.

A soft lover and a wild wanderer.

You feel like home, and everywhere I’ve never been all at once.

I think its breathtaking – How your heart just spills out of you.

Go where you breathe free.

You are a golden thing in this heavy, heavy world.

Settling will always leave the heart relentlessly unsettled.

If they are for you, you’ll feel it in your chest walls.

She’s beautiful chaos and wild butterflies.

Why else are we here if not to live with unreasonable passion for things.

Some people are just light, glow, hope; human stars.

I think I melt from authenticity more than anything.

Boys with mischievous smiles and poetry hearts.

She was ready to deny the existence of space and time rather than admit that love might not be eternal.

As for me, I am mean: that means that I need the suffering of others to exist. A flame. A flame in their hearts. When I am all alone, I am extinguished.

All men are Prophets or else God does not exist.

Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is.

I exist. It is soft, so soft, so slow. And light: it seems as though it suspends in the air. It moves.

We can speak and think only of what exists. And what exists is uncreated and imperishable for it is whole and unchanging and complete. It was not or nor shall be different since it is now, all at once, one and continuous.

It is the same thing that can be thought and for the sake of which thought exists.

There is only one solution if old age is not to be an absurd parody of our former life, and that is to go on pursuing ends that give our existence a meaning.