“Love is not cruel, we are cruel. Love is not a game, we have made a game out of love.”

How can she love a man who is busy loving someone he can never get his hands on again.

What is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives.

On the first day of love, you wrapped me in the word special.

I was music but you had your ears cut off.

Every revolution starts and ends with his lips.

It must hurt to know I am your most beautiful regret.

My heart aches for sisters more than anything it aches for women helping women like flowers ache for spring.

That is the thing about selfish people. They gamble entire beings. Entire souls to please their own.

You’ve touched me without even touching me.

I am losing parts of you like I lose eyelashes unknowingly and everywhere.

This morning I told the flowers what I’d do for you and they blossomed.

My heart is beating, and I’m breathing, and nothing anybody has ever done has changed that.

You cannot leave and have me too I cannot exist in two places at once-when you ask if we can still be friends.

You were not wrong for leaving you were wrong for coming back and thinking you could have me when it was convenient and leave when it was not.

Even if this is a mistake. It could only be right to be this wrong with you.

Loneliness is a sign you are in desperate need of yourself.

There are two sorts of truth: trivialities, where opposites are clearly absurd, and profound truths, recognised by the fact that the opposite is also a profound truth.

From the dark depths of my soul came an intense passion for prose.

Brave’ is very specific and extremely personal. Sometimes brave means letting everyone else think you’re a coward. Sometimes brave is letting everyone else down but yourself.

It often happens that those are the best people whose characters have been most injured by slanderers: as we usually find that to be the sweetest fruit which the birds have been picking at.

And what happens when you run out of words? You listen. Deeply. To everything around you.

But man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.

As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.

Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real.