“Sometimes, we express our words through writing, even though it needs to be spoken.”

You’ll heal after this painful chapter.

I hope you could see how blind people see the world with their imaginations.

She was just my kind of poetry.

You’re always welcome if you find someone better than me.

She built walls to protect herself from intruders who made her feel unworthy.

Many people can write, but only the rare can understand the pain behind your unwritten emotions.

I still write poems about you, when I know you never write about me.

I wrote many poems about her and held her so close to my heart that she did not even knew a place there.

We forgive people in order to give peace for ourselves.

There’s always a chapter in our life that hasn’t been read.

Real love will make you blind, Like myself when I started to write poems about her.

The sun has risen, its beautiful and so are you.

Just like the moon and stars she was made of such wonder.

I was quiet, not blind, but very deep inside, I was hurt.

In his eyes, she was both poetry and literature.

And she has a deep soul that others fear to dive in.

I bear the fruits of your memory in the expression of my art for that is what you gave to the world.

True men” are strong willed, have dignity in their demeanor, serenity in their expression. They are cool like autumn, warm like spring. Their passions arise like the four seasons, in harmony with the ten thousand creatures, and no one knows their limits.

Like all magic cultures expressed by appropriate hieroglyphs, the true theater has its shadows too, and, of all languages and all arts, the theater is the only one left whose shadows have shattered their limitations.

I think being someone in love is so hard to define, so temporary, because retrospectively we often deny the state in which we were in love.

My way of expression is full of complications and mystery because that’s my perception of life.

The one thing that fills me with enthusiasm is to try, despite everything, to get nearer to those visions that seem so hard to express.

The only other things I got from the abstract expressionists is the absolute belief that this canvas is the complete total area of struggle, this is the arena, this is where the fight is taking place, the battle.

I’m actually kind of angriest about the fact that everybody keeps saying how angry I am.