“I’m dancing on the edge of the knife, as I cut out pieces of my heart to feed your beasts.”

I was running adrift then you came an anchor to my soul to my ship.

Time is just one moment of timelessness.

A starless sky in your eyes, I’ve already died a thousand stars over again.

I can’t get enough of you baby, give me one more breath.

The moment you left, you took the beating right out of my heart with your last beat.

Everything in due time for its own reason. – How things happen.

Its taken me my life time to relearn what I knew as a child, to love myself.

At some point you’re gonna have to take a chance on something.

Love is not always worth sacrificing yourself for.

And the stars and the sky and the moon agree, that I should be with you and you should be with me.

For the rest of my life you’ll visit my dreams, the only place we exist.

Its simple. Its love.

You were built to love.

Walk slowly with purpose.

Life has meaning only when you give it meaning otherwise it is pure chaos.

You ask me for nothing. So, I give you everything.

The white foam knows nothing better than those sands which wait for it , rise to it and suck it in .but what do the waves know of the massed, hot, still sands of the desert just twenty , no , ten feet beyond the scalloped edge ?

Discussion without asperity, sympathy with fusion, gayety unracked by too abundant jests, mental ease in approaching one another; these are the things which give a pleasant smoothness to the rough edge of life.

I’d like to be in a man band, but with Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and Keith Richards. We’d have a rocky edge.

The self forms at the edge of desire, and a science of self arises in the effort to leave that self behind.

We can observe gravity in daily life. If we could throw an apple to the edge of the universe, we would observe it accelerating.

They’re all a huge influence on me. For me, just following rock history and watching Darkness On the Edge of Town and realizing that’s it’s okay to be obsessed with a snare sound because Bruce Springsteen was obsessed with a snare sound.

Humourists lead… an existence of jumpiness and apprehension. They sit on the edge of the chair of Literature. In the house of Life they have the feeling that they have never taken off their overcoats.

Prayer begins at the edge of emptiness.