“You have turned your heart into a museum of people you’ve loved to keep them alive inside you.”

Forgive her for how her agony reveals itself, child. This is how blood magic works. Unconditional never meant perfect anyway.

Perfection in imperfection. Someone whose flaws work well with yours.

You have belonged better in your own arms than in anyone else’s. Remember you are the softest love you will ever have.

You need not fear the wolves you hide in your soul. They were made not to hurt you, but to protect you against this world.

Become fluent in the language of letting go. Learn to give people up before they hurt you beyond repair.

She didn’t just wait for someone to come and rescue her from her discontent and strife, instead she took matters into her own hands and empowered her own future, her own life.

There is an art in the emptiness of all natural things.

Maybe magic ends with me and it will never cross your path, but I want you to remember that survival is an art. The world is falsehood so you rely on your smarts.

I’d like to think our love does return to us reincarnated in different human forms. That people might be temporary, but love is permanent and it just changes form.

There is a spell for almost anything and if there’s not a spell, there is at least a poem.

When I set out to find my father, I was not being brave. I was acting out of fear or losing the only parent I ever had. They may want you to believe I was simple being brave, but anxiety makes more heroes than history would care to repeat.

Because girls who were building empires for themselves did not need kingdoms to shine.

The river takes what she wants, does what she desires, and washes over anything that stands in her way.

I had hoped one day to find someone who loves my monsters, the wolves that I feed, the demons I sing to sleep, the tiger that is my caged heart, the parts of me I do not talk about. I prayed and wished and yearned until I realized that I had already found her within me.

There are graveyards inside you made of people that made you ache, made of memories that you barely survived made of trauma and heartbreak. These graveyards need to become gardens where you plant flowers that blossom, for you to let go.

So sing a soft lullaby to the things you hate about yourself, and get to know them too.

People in general see galleries and museums as family-appropriate excursions.

Art exhibitions would be less censored if they were rated, G or NC-17, like movies.

The fact is that the British Museum had a complete specimen of a dodo in their collection up until the 18th century

All over Budapest, statues have been replaced, museum exhibits have been redone, to turn ethnic Hungarians, not Jews, into the prime victims of the Germans during World War II.

Things have gotten openly more extreme in the last few years. I was lecturing in Hungary, whose prime minister, Victor Orban, is an example of this trend.

Now almost every artist outside of New York is connected with some school or some museum school, and even in New York the majority are.

A church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.

A joy-filled home is like your own personal art museum