“Searching for the one thing, that would set my sad soul free.”

I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.

I know you are scared. Who could blame you? Love is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are a girl walking into the storm.

Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.

It was beautifully worded and painfully read; the things that were written, were those never said.

There is one who you belong to, whose love- there is no song for.

I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

The feeling is like the ocean. Sometimes calm and still; other times, it’s a hurricane.

Summer was felt a little more; in autumn I began to fall. When winter came with all its white, you were mine to kiss goodnight.

I think the mysterious pull that draws you to another person is identical to the one that moves our eyes upward to the stars.

I hope someday you will find me and remember what I once meant to you.

It’s so dark right now, I can’t see any light around me. That’s because the light is coming from you. You can’t see it but everyone else can.

If any person claims to have loved twice in all their life – they have not loved at all.

I know there is a terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of stardust, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.

To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.

Where are you?” She asked. “I have been searching all my life.” “Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.

The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.

A hungry man is not a free man.

Where be bonds to bind the free? All the world was made for me!

Our secret association works in a way that nothing can withstand, and man shall soon be free and happy.

The small businessman is smart; he realizes there’s no free lunch. On the other hand, he knows where to go to get a good inexpensive sandwich.

There were free elections in Bulgaria, where the opposition has just won.

There’s something exciting about that free fall, but then my life gets really screwed up.

The loneliness of the expatriate is of an odd and complicated kind, for it is inseparable from the feeling of being free, of having escaped.

Whoever is for higher taxes, feel free to pay higher taxes.