“The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.”

I talk to God but the sky is empty.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal.

I dream too much, work too little.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

I am myself. That is not enough.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

I want to be important. By being different. And these girls are all the same.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it

Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.

Opinions are like orgasms, mine matters most and I really don’t care if you have one.

Got a hundred big faces, but I’m still alone.

I think that there’s a difference between getting your heart broken and getting let down.

One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody.

I’m not brave any more darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me.

A pen went scribbling along. When it tried to write love, it broke.

Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.

You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.

We suffer more in imagination than in reality.