“I couldn’t experience an end with you, because you have always been a beginning to something new every day.”

We have engaged ourselves so much in the idea of self love, that everyone else appears to be empty shelves.

The sound of those crickets still drowns me in the summer fantasy.

She who has the courage to dive deep into the ocean will find the pearls.

I found the universe in you when people thought the sky is the limit.

Anger makes you vulnerable, It slowdowns the mind and make us slip our tongues often.

Sometimes it’s suffocating by being surrounded by happiness and not being able to feel it.

It’s exhausting stitching the bruises of the past with the one you see your whole life with.

Surviving is to overcome a hurting wound living is to see your face each morning.

You were drunk in love by the time I was already sober.

Sometimes I wish that I was the first you’ve met when you turned eighteen. There could be so many more years which we could have lived together.

You make sunlight doubt its role in winters as you set my body on fire.

There are these emotions which are eager to scream aloud, but they settle inside us without a cry.

I thought butterflies are frail until they began to flit in my stomach.

In the story, I was the woman of words, where you couldn’t be a man of actions. At least my words weren’t a lie.

All those lavenders seemed purple in love they turned lilac without him.

Breaking things as a child seemed so easy, than fixing broken things as a adult.

We broke through the feminine mystique and women who were wives, mothers and housewives began to find themselves as people. That didn’t mean they stopped, or had to stop, being mothers, wives or even liking their homes.

Let’s begin creating miracles now.

The peoples of the Mediterranean began to emerge from barbarism when they learned to cultivate the olive and the vine.

The moment we begin to celebrate ourselves and focus on our successes is the moment we begin living.

When you choose to perceive Love over fear, life begins to flow.

When one begins to think about it, America depends rather heavily on women’s passive dependence, their femininity. Femininity, if one still wants to call it that, makes American women a target and a victim of the sexual sell.

Life is the beginning of death. Life is for the sake of death. Death is at once the end and the beginning—at once separation and closer union of the self. Through death the reduction is complete.

When she stopped conforming to the conventional picture of femininity she finally began to enjoy being a woman.