“We made a home for our wishes in the stars; while forgetting they were meant to be only the beginning.”

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.

We feel so much and remember so little.

Sometimes forever is kept in a heartbeat of a second.

No love defines us as much as the losses we have made in its name.

Changes are important they are like the rain who washes away dead flowers to make space for new ones.

Sometimes I only fall in love with the moment itself not the people or places in it.

To know why you fell in love will never bring you back up.

One begins to realize that one is getting old when the birthday candles weigh more than the cake.

I am just beginning to be more comfortable with my identity.

I hang out with the right people, my friends that I’ve had since the beginning. We go to the beach, take walks, paint, see our family – just normal things that people who become famous lose sight of.

If you really think about it, if we begin to teach history exactly the way that it happened – good, bad, ugly, no matter what – I believe that we’re going to find that we are closer, more connected than we are apart.

Sometimes beginnings aren’t so simple, sometimes goodbye’s the only way.

Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed.

Oh to be a pear tree – any tree in bloom! With kissing bees singing of the beginning of the world!

I have so much I want to tell you, and nowhere to begin.