“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

I’m a writer. I don’t support any war. That’s my principle.

No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.

Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.

I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you.

Life is not like water. Things in life don’t necessarily flow over the shortest possible route.

I had no ambition to be a writer because the books I read were too good, my standards were too high.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions.

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.

Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection.

Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time.

Concentration is one of the happiest things in my life.

Among the many values in life, I appreciate freedom most.

I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.

As time goes on, you’ll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn’t, doesn’t. Time solves most things. And what time can’t solve, you have to solve yourself.

I think history is collective memories. In writing, I’m using my own memory, and I’m using my collective memory.

Nobody likes being alone that much. I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all. It just leads to disappointment.

He was my armor and I was his sword.

My soul speaks a language, only you can understand.

Don’t forget to tell these special people in your life just how special they are to you.

He didn’t like drama and I was fucking Shakespeare.

I know how our fingers would interlace. Like this and that. Delicate yet determined. As porcelain scales in serene movements. Iridescent in ways our thoughts could not convey. How beautifully we are made in the ways we trace out along soft skins the words that linger within us.

If I were a flower, you were the rain I was longing for.

Eternity is vague. Let me fill in the blanks with you.

Under the shadow of your skin, I find ancient secrets. They are now the truths I crave.