“When you hold my hand and it feels like a fresh dream.”

Would it be safe to say that I find you in every heartbeat?

In a way, hope is a type of courage too.

Love resides within each breath.

Speak good things into existence.

Using each heartbeat as a second chance.

But these downpours, they can all be a type of cleaning.

What is my ribcage if not a prison for hope.

And I held onto hope. Like a dear old friend.

But I know courage. It is never lost.

Even the rain could be the answer to your prayers.

You and that love you carry. Like fresh rivers. Like new poetry.

We are ever blossoming.

Some days each breath just lie stuck in your chest, you know?

Love shouldn’t be as fickle as the rain. But an ever flowing torrent.

Remember forgiveness; a kind exhale.

I think there is miracle always spilling into something.

The only circumstance that a woman can ask for a divorce or a khali is when her husband is in total agreement with her or if she comes from a very powerful family who decide to back her up.

Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold.

If I am going to trash others for their dumb predictions, I must at least hold myself to the same sort of accountability.

I’m holding a media mutiny.

There is almost nothing you can say that holds up as a generalization, because it depends on too many factors: size, modulation, the rest of the field, a certain consistency that color has with forms, and the statement you’re trying to make.

The primary virtue is: hold your tongue; who knows how to keep quiet is close to God.

Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.

Nobody holds a good opinion of a man who has a low opinion of himself.