You can create something that is pure genius, but you have to get your timing right.
LANG LEAVWhen words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am and we just are.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else.
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For she is his poet, and he is her poetry.
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There is a savagery to what you feel. It eats you up inside. But you will get through it; you don’t need his mouth to placate you. You don’t need his hands to untangle the butterfly knot in your heart. Your love is a fire that will burn itself out. Let it ravage you.
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I had no way of knowing, when I was sitting alone in that tiny bedroom, that in just a few short months, I would meet the love of my life: a man who lived across the ocean from me, in a little house by the sea.
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I just hope you realize how much you mean to me. I just wish I could remind you of how beautiful you are. I’m sorry I haven’t told you in so long. But please don’t think I have given up on you. I will never give up on you. My arms are wide open. There is always a place for you here.
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What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.
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But you’re not the kind of girl who builds her house from sticks; you are a fortress, stubborn and strong. Do not give away the keys to the kingdom to anyone less than a king.
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The memory of you is fading, a little at a time, and I can feel myself forgetting.
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You’re young and there’s still so much ahead. So much uncertainty and doubt. It keeps you up at night-this wild, restless feeling. But you don’t know how free you are. For this short, miraculous time, you have no one to answer to, nothing to lose. You belong wholly to yourself.
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My indecision. I wanted everything because I didn’t want anything enough.
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It was words that I fell for. In the end, it was words that broke my heart.
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To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
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Don’t you get it?” he said. “The ones who are afraid of heights don’t trust themselves enough to jump.
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You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.
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In her eyes, the sadness sings-of one who was destined, for better things.
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And I sighed and wept for what could not be–and for all that could have been.
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The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.
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I have buried myself so deep in my words that sometimes I can’t tell if I am the person writing or the one hiding between the lines.
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Let her be herself. Or she will be somebody else’s.
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Give me something I can write about.
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The briefest moment shared with you-the longest on my mind.
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You only get one chance to fall in love with your heart still whole.
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I can’t believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It’s like I’ve been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.
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The most beautiful thing is not when you learn to live without something: it’s the moment you realize you never needed it in the first place.
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She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.
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I don’t know how you are so familiar to me-or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before-in another time, a different place, some other existence.
LANG LEAV