“Whats so poetically beautiful about my world now, is that its finally mine.”

Misery only ever lingers on those who choose not to see the beauty in anyone, other than themselves.

The way that the water reflects off of her eyes, tells me a story of beautiful pain.

Give me someone who will lay with me under a crescent moon, and quietly watch our worlds collide.

I want to exist in the same world where you just want to exist in mine.

She was someone who still believed that she could love with a shattered heart, and that made her remarkable.

I closed a lot of doors, that used to be wide open. Bolted them shut so you couldn’t break them down again.

When you’re with her, I know you wish it was me. When I’m with him, he’s all I see.

When you’d hurt, I’d rush to your side. When I’d hurt, you’d hide.

The beautiful yet chaotic irony of it all is that; because of you, I lost myself, and yet, because of you, I found myself.

And I’m just trying to find someone worthy enough to set my heart on fire.

And some days, all she needs is to lay beneath the crescent moon and let the earth hold her.

It was then, sitting there, that I looked over him, and realized there was more.

Sometimes, the only hand you need to hold, is your own.

He admired the way I loved. Because I still gave everything that I had, even when I was left with nothing.

Love today. Gone tomorrow. Now you pass each other like strangers on a busy street.

The only thing setting her off, are the fireworks he put inside of her soul.

Heaven has not learned of my arrival, and my departure will not in the least diminish it beauty and grandeur. I will sleep underground, for us ephemeral mortals, the only eternity is the moment and drinking to the moment is better than weeping for it.

A little beauty is preferable to much wealth.

Some days, all of it aches with beauty.  Others, it all just aches with you.

A bride should look at everything she possibly can…just so she can experiment and see what makes her really feel beautiful or glamorous or classical or whatever she desires to be on that particular day.

We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.

Run my dear, from anything that may not strengthen your precious budding wings. Run like hell my dear, from anyone likely to put a sharp knife into the sacred, tender vision of your beautiful heart.

The beauty of America is people can do what they like.

A wise man among the ignorant is as a beautiful girl in the company of blind men.