“I don’t want your polite lies, give me the painful truth.”

Only god can bring dry bones back to life.

My weakness was loving you before loving myself.

Conditional love is not love.

Broken glass taught me there is something so beautiful in shattering.

Letting go is an art – master it and be free.

Only the moon knows all the secrets I tell her about you.

I can’t un-feel the trauma – it’s in my blood.

Your pride won’t let you love.

Life is a dance – make it beautiful.

Love is not overrated – you are just tired of getting hurt.

The darkness doesn’t stand a chance against the sun.

Your aging face tells stories of where you’ve been whom you’ve loved.

When he tells you he’s a bad man, believe him.

My spirit is sad – I carry the tears of my ancestors.

Your love is warm like the sun – I feel it all over my skin.

There’s a difference between a soft spot and a blind spot,

The Kafka paradox: art depends on truth, but truth, being indivisable, cannot know itself: to tell the truth is to lie. Thus the writer is the truth, and yet when he speaks he lies.

Do not fix hopes on your health, and do not laugh away life. Remember how they walked and now all their joints lie separately, and the tongue with which they talked lightly is eaten away by the worms.

Where even a falsehood must be told, let it be told.

Comedy is allied to justice.

What liars poets and everybody were! They made one think one wanted sentiment. When what one supremely wanted was this piercing, consuming, rather awful sensuality.

Anytime you catch folks lying, they scared of something!

I have felt warmth in lies, and coldness in truth. This is how I know that morality, transcends the physicality of temperatures.

It is not necessary to accept everything as true, one must only accept it as necessary.’ ‘A melancholy conclusion,’ said K. ‘It turns lying into a universal principle.