“The woman I am today is grateful, for the life that she has lived. And until she takes her last breath, it’s with gratitude she’ll live.”

For he has conquered death, with the gift of His last breath. Go now, and share the news, the Savior beckons you.

We are all broken things. But there’s so much beauty in those cracks. And so much strength in those places we’ve mended.

He speaks to me with his heart. and my heart cannot help but listen.

This place, this moment is the most peaceful and the most beautiful I have ever known.

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.

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

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

Credit is like a looking-glass, which when once sullied by a breath, may be wiped clear again; but if once cracked can never be repaired.

Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.

The clever cat eats cheese and breathes down rat holes with baited breath.

What one does in one’s art, that is the breath of one’s being. What one does in one’s life, that is a bagatelle for the outsiders to fuss about.

I never go to funerals. To me a person is dead when he breathes for the last time. After that, your memories should be personal.

Success is my breathing space. I brought it on myself. I will price it, I will cash it, I can take it or leave it. Loneliness is my hiding place, breastfeeding myself. What more can I say? I have swallowed the bitter pill, I can taste it. Life is real.

Do friends really long to breathe the air of the other?