“What I have spent in mourning is the price I have paid for my healing.”

Her mother told her she could grow up to be anything she wanted be, so she grew up to become the strongest of the strong, the strangest of the strange, the wildest of the wild, the wolf leading wolves.

I hope you summon your courage and you invite your demons to tea, and you learn to listen to all their stories.

She is alone, and oh how brilliantly she burns.

And you say you are broken, but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.

You are a dangerous collection of all my favorite things. An old soul, a heart of gold, and hands that make my body sing.

You are not his princess; you are your own queen.

A mess of beautiful contradictions make her whole, she wears fire for skin but a storm lives in her soul.

People aren’t born sad; we make them that way.

Some people will always taste like fire and leave the ones that love them tasting like ash.

Those freckles make you seem like a galaxy of stars, just waiting to be explored and loved.

Tell your daughters how you love your body. Tell them how they must love theirs.

I hope you find someone who knows how to love you when you are sad.

You must understand: they fear you. There is nothing scarier in their minds than a girl who knows the power of her flames.

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Some are made of witchcraft and wolf and a little bit of vice.

Some people are born with tornadoes in their lives, but constellations in their eyes. Other people are born with stars at their feet, but their souls are lost at sea.

Only the brave and the broken are kind in this world.

We’re always mourning things that have died. It’s a bit much sometimes. These studios have no fresh air, and there’s this unwritten rule that they don’t have windows, either.

Temporary feelings of regret are a normal part of the mourning process. This helps us retrieve our lost dreams. If we hold on to regret, we risk trapping ourselves in a prison of unrealized dreams from which it is difficult to escape.

Don’t say mourning. It’s too psychoanalytic. I’m not mourning. I’m suffering.

Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.

Even though we are not sure of the links, Iraq was one of the countries that did not lower its flags in mourning on 9/11.

When asked, “Why do you always wear black?”, he said, “I am mourning for my life.

Many a smiling face hides a mourning heart; but grief alone teaches us what we are.

Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn!