“I adore all of these stolen moments with you.”

I want a man willing to hike mountains for me.

You can’t put love in a locked box, it’s not a stagnant thing.

Let the music fill the empty patches of your soul. And heal you.

You are the sand that doesn’t stick when I am dry and sad.

I am the shore and you are the tide. We come together only to get pulled in opposite directions.

You’re good at telling me lies laced with honesty.

Dear love, I’m starting to wonder where you are. I’m starting to wonder if you’ll ever find me.

You took the light parts of me and turned them dark.

When our time expires my love for you won’t.

All I’ve ever wanted is to feel wanted by you.

I’ve learned to stop begging for love. At the wrong door.

Everyday healing has a different face. Sometimes familiar. Sometimes a stranger.

With you, I am everything I’ve ever been told I’m not.

Its better to walk into the fire than never feel the heat of the flames.

We both believed in love but one of us believed more than the other.

If you can learn to love yourself you’ll find a great company in your alone.

I was going to do a book about the first prearranged Karpov-Kasparov match, ’84-’85. But the God-damn Jews have stolen my entire file on that.

Sweeter than the stolen kiss Are the granted kisses

So gradually, and then I had an Italian roadster that I built, it took me five years to build it, it was stolen from me and stripped. I said, well maybe we should have another where we shouldn’t steal from each other.

And to be stolen away from ourselves by Art is a momentary relaxation from that itching, a minute’s profound, and as it were secret, enfranchisement.

Life yields only to the conqueror. Never accept what can be gained by giving in. You will be living off stolen goods, and your muscles will atrophy.

Love is stolen in the shadows of the night. Though it’s wrong all along, it keeps going on as long as they keep it out of sight.

The Book of Negroes recites the pain, misery and liberation of one African woman, Aminata Diallo, who was stolen from her homeland and sold into American slavery.

An election is nothing more than the advanced auction of stolen goods.