“I’ve come to see that life does not only exist where you do. There’s sense of life here too.”

You’ll roam the world and come to realize: It’s all in you, to be free or not to be.

We reshape our memories into uglier versions because it’s hard to forget them while they’re still beautiful.

This is face blindness, but not really it. Among all the faces I see, I could only see yours.

I’ve always had a fear of endings, but it comes as relief to me that among all the dying things, I am one too.

Where once there were a few houses between us, now there are seas.

I close my eyes and I see you. I open them, and I’m blind.

You float underneath my eyelids – a dream I never seem to get enough of.

Of all the lies I’ve lived, and all the lies I’ve been told, the lies I told myself hurt the most.

If there’s anything I’ve learnt so far, it’s that to love others, you should give them space to breathe.

And it scares me that if I ever get my wings, I might not know where to fly to.

I am grieving a connection that never really happened, a dance of souls that only lasted one day.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to break me, you can always tear the pages of an open book.

When she laughs, her soul floats outside her body and I can touch it.

I wish I can still hold your hand like I used to. I wish you were still alive.

You touch me and a thousand different particles come alive beneath my skin.

I shed skin after skin, seeking my true colors, expecting a rainbow or a stripe of black, but all I get are maps of red. We are all human underneath.

The bonds that unite another person to our self exist only in our mind.

Only within yourself exists that other reality for which you long.

The proletariat uses the State not in the interests of freedom but in order to hold down its adversaries, and as soon as it becomes possible to speak of freedom the State as such ceases to exist.

There never will exist anything permanently noble and excellent in the character which is a stranger to resolute self-denial.

He who would do good to another must do it in Minute Particulars; General Good is the plea of the scoundrel, hypocrite and flatterer: For Art and Science cannot exist but in minutely organized Particulars.

Everybody has a light and a dark side, and neither can exist without the other.

But one must do something about the past. It doesn’t just cease to be. It goes on existing and affecting the present, and in new and different ways, as if in some other dimension it too were growing.

Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever existed!