“The truth is your skin was my skin and shedding you is not an easy process.”

I am not my thoughts. I am the temple that hears the whispers of them.

Hearts don’t forget.

On the days I felt like I was going crazy he looked at me and said maybe its the rest of the world that’s crazy.

You are the sun. Soft yellow. Beaming flames. Gentle and fierce all at once.

I used to admire people who spoke their mind. Now I admire people who speak their heart.

Poetry is not something you try to grasp with your mind and wrap yourself around to figure it out.

I tried and tried to blow out the flame of a candle but it would not budge, it reminded me of us.

I am nature taking its divine and natural course. I am homes being rebuilt after a tragedy. I am healing.

I will take this heart, these lungs, these hands and I will rebuild.

The more you judge others. The more you cage yourself.

Our greatness mistake was starting with potent lust, and allowing it to drip into lust.

For every breath that catches the attention of my lungs – I am grateful.

There is such beauty lying in the subtle calling of the seconds, of the milliseconds, if you slow down enough to capture it.

More breath than mind. More moon silk than sunbeam. More bone than break.

You reach a dangerous level of independence the moment you realize you are beating.

If you are in need of a safety net-sit with your own heartbeat for a little while.

Intend to live in continual mortification, and never to expect or desire any worldly ease or pleasure.

Godliness is more easily feigned in words than in actions.

I know being with me is not easy. But I want you to understand no one has me, or has ever had me, except you.

It is easy in adversity to despise death; he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.

No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.

It is much easier to try one’s hand at many things than to concentrate one’s powers on one thing.

Of all the languages I have ever known, the language of the heart is the easiest and toughest.

The prosperous can not easily form a right idea of misery.