“You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.”

Then there is the boy you can never stop thinking about. Whenever you see his name, it trips you up. Even if it’s one that belongs to many others, even if he belongs to someone else.

Don’t stay where you are needed. Go where you are loved.

It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me. “Do you love me, I ask?” In your hesitation I found my answer.

I loved you more than love was allowed.

I still search for you in crowds, in empty fields and soaring clouds. In city lights and passing cars, on winding roads and wishing stars.

And I sighed and wept for what could not be–and for all that could have been.

We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.

What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.

Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.

Before the tears that tore us, when our history was before us.

I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.

In her eyes, the sadness sings-of one who was destined, for better things.

When you lose a person, a whole universe goes along with them.

She can feel it down to her very core-this is her time. She will not only climb mountains-she will move them too.

He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for-lost in an instant-to the enormity of what I felt.

I wanted everything because I didn’t want anything enough.

I hear the rain fall and suddenly I don’t feel so alone because the sky is crying too.

Suffering pulls us farther away from other human beings. It builds a wall made of cries and contempt to separate us.

For years I could not cry. And I thought there was something wrong with me. Turns out I was crying after all – just not in tears.

Our hearts of stone become hearts of flesh when we learn where the outcast weeps.

You can’t cry on a diamond’s shoulder, and diamonds won’t keep you warm at night, but they’re sure fun when the sun shines.

It’s no accident many accuse me of conducting public affairs with my heart instead of my head. Well, what if I do?.. Those who don’t know how to weep with their whole heart don’t know how to laugh either.

Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.

The eyes of a woman who never cried can not be beautiful.