“She wished he was her essence but he wasn’t even worth to breathe the air she lived in.”

Health is a wealth that is irreplaceable and we only realize its value when it starts failing.

She touched the curves of letters that made art on her paper, knowing too well that they will give shape to the smiles of her admirers.

Looking at her, you would feel she was a porcelain doll with eyes full of fire and flames of life, that washed her away from the air bubbles of uncertainty.

If you look at her she is plain and white, blink your eyes and look again, she is filled with every color of this universe embedded in simplicity.

She has a bunny, that sleeps on her palm, he wished it was his hand in her palm instead.

Her veins are filled with the ink that writes onto the paper of her life and canvas.

She kneeled in front of him and drank away the teardrops, that was the power she held with her healing aura.

She is the lighthouse that guards the ship, the shore, the sea of his life, without her, there is no him.

Her end was her beginning, and her every new start was the end to her old version.

She wanted him to touch her velvety plush and blossom core, till she moans out words of prose and poetry.

Her thunders, storms, lightning, are destructive or life-giving but it all depends on who is standing in front of her.

She wish to read the minds of those who smiled wickedly at her, let her be the wolf to devour madness.

She is a woman, with softness in her smiles and pores but a steel firm core that is an epitome of strength.

Will you cherish me or ravish me with your wildness, if you were to know who I am in reality?

She stood at the tip of obstacles, but never blind to the light of faith.

It pains to be insulted every time you breathe when I am your oxygen but you have to wish to breathe.

It is the wind and the rain, O God, the cold and the storm that make this earth of yours to blossom and bear its fruit. So in our lives it is storm and stress and hurt and suffering that make real men and women bring the world’s work to its highest perfection.

Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.

Nothing hurts worse than the loss of money.

You are more than the things that have hurt you.

Sometimes anger is the hardened hurt we never healed from.

The real tragedy of minimum wage laws is that they are supported by well-meaning groups who want to reduce poverty. But the people who are hurt most by higher minimums are the most poverty stricken.

If a preacher is not first preaching to himself, better that he falls on the steps of the pulpit and breaks his neck than preaches that sermon.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s just that I don’t want to.