“I chose you everyday just to watch you choose her.”

This time I am healing myself.

You are the lullaby that sings me to sleep each night.

You are a storm. And I have never been afraid of thunder.

We may be in different cities but as long as we are under the same moon then I know we still have a chance.

I let you go like blowing the seeds from a dandelion – with one last wish.

Darling, you will always be worth the wait no matter what I do, I do not think my heart will ever not choose you.

If our souls can keep finding one another again and again in this lifetime surely they can do the same in the next.

You only wanted me when your hands were empty but all you did was make my hands empty too.

I will fight fate I will go against space and time dive into a black hole just to find my way back to you.

Lying next to you or 300 miles away I am yours just the same.

I am the sun and he is the moon and I’m still trying to make our two worlds collide.

You feel so much because you are so much.

You left me in darkness but I followed the stars I followed a constellation that led me back to my own heart.

I will be everywhere you look but nowhere to be found and that will be my revenge.

I hope you feel me under the sun and wonder why you let yourself be so cold for so long.

I promise to always be a light when the darkness comes.

It would take too long to explain the intimate alliance of contradictions in human nature which makes love itself wear at times the desperate shape of betrayal. And perhaps there is no possible explanation.

All a man can betray is his conscience.

Love may be likened to a disease in this respect, that when it is denied a vent in one part, it will certainly break out in another; hence what a woman’s lips often conceal, her eyes, her blushes, and many little involuntary actions betray.

Falsehood flies, and truth comes limping after it, so that when men come to be undeceived, it is too late; the jest is over, and the tale hath had its effect.

Long before morning I knew that what I was seeking to discover was a thing I’d always known. That all courage was a form of constancy. That it is always himself that the coward abandoned first. After this all other betrayals come easily.

Though we may not desire to detect fraud, we must not, on that account, endeavor to be insensible of it, for, as cunning is a crime, so is duplicity a fault, and if men dread knaves, they also despise fools.

The hardest thing to cope with is not selfishness or vanity or deceitfulness, but sheer stupidity.

Be sure that you are not deceiving yourself at any time about actual conditions.