“Love worth reaching for. Worth hurting for. Worth dying for. This love worth fighting for. And worth staying for.”

I’ve heard it said that to love completely is to lose yourself. How can that be? when loving you is discovering myself over and over again.

The only castle you were ever meant to live in, my child, is the one that’s always existed in your soul.

Love. There are no barriers against its infinite power, my child, save for those we impose upon ourselves.

Yes, my child, in this world, following your heart, remaining true to your soul, is sometimes the bravest thing you’ll ever do.

Recovery isn’t an end-game. It’s an every day, by the grace of God, I choose me, I choose them, I’ve come this far, I will not go back, war for my soul that I will not lose.

It’s his soul that speaks to me.

They never told us love would be easy. They only showed us love would always be enough.

You don’t need to define this moment, my child. You need only live it.

Be gentle with yourself, my child. In your hands you hold all that is precious within you.

But it was the way he loved me that made me want to stay forever.

But above all, my child, grace is choosing love when faced with hate.

Great is Your presence, Lord. Great is Your peace. Great is Your truthfulness. Blessed be are we.

One of the things that makes him so incredibly beautiful to me is the way he loves so completely.

It’s no wonder we’ve always sought the sky. After all, my child, our souls were meant to fly.

Maybe all these stars carry the souls of those we’ve lost. And our countless wishes carry all the love we never got to give them. Maybe.

Without acceptance, I would have never known freedom. Without surrender, I would have never known peace. And without dying to myself, I would have never known what it truly means to live.

You know what I’m going to have on my gravestone? ‘She did it the hard way.’

The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.

The Son of God died; it is by all means to be believed because it is absurd. And he was buried and rose again; the fact is certain, because it is impossible.

When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influences and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.

Prevention of birth is premature murder, and it makes no difference whether it is a life already born that one snatches away or a life that is coming to birth.

He who lives only to benefit himself confers on the world a benefit when he dies.

Prevention of birth is a precipitation of murder.

Can we not live without pleasure, who cannot but with pleasure die?