“I hold a trembling fire in my heart, to burn the ghosts of broken regrets.”

The fading blue of yesterdays sky is reminding me of the hopeless love I told the moon about you.

We should never allow that the scars on our heart change the way we love – no matter how deep they run.

The more I write about us, the more our love feels like art.

We break ourselves to fit better into all the wrong hearts.

Some break their hearts themselves to be healed of the wrong love.

Forever seems dreadful without a love to fill it with.

The dark silhouette of a forgotten rose in a forbidden garden of love; what kind of delicate fragrance of forgiveness it seems to tell my heart about.

We can not all love in the same way – for the feeling would be called ordinariness instead. And of that, the world has too much already.

Simple things are the most difficult ones; they enquire much more than one thought of ordinariness.

Solitude causes more wounds than it was ever meant to heal.

How a love ends should never define your next one.

Some choices are destined to be mistakes.

Sometimes scars run deeper than wounds ever did.

How simple tomorrow seems when there is nothing worth remembering (about yesterday).

A simple love can be deeper than any ocean.

If you truly love someone, you’ll never get tired of meeting his soul all over again for the first time.

You can never win when you wear the ugly cloak of self-pity and the sour sound of whining.

I know who I am. I have a very strong sense of self.

Treat everyone you meet like God in drag.

Take the attitude of a student, never be too big to ask questions, never know too much to learn something new.

Always, always, always referring every goddam thing that happens right back to our lousy little egos.

When it comes to swag, there’s no gender involved.

Hate me for who I am, I don’t care. At least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not.

I stand by every mistake I’ve ever made, so judge away.