“She is the epitome of majestic sadness whenever she cries.”

We do not really know what we have lost until all that is left is the emptiness within us.

Past! What a painful place it is.

We have the ability to find value in anything, but just because something has value doesn’t mean it has to be important to us.

If changes are unavoidable, nothing is permanent. If nothing is permanent, everything is temporary.

Sometimes, we are stuck in the dark for so long, we sometimes forget what light looks like, what hope and love feel like.

The walls of my room turn gray, the world began to crumble, the flowers withered, the birds lost their wings, the paintings became colorless, the sunlight was lost and the moon was no more.

I wish to exist in the spaces of your heart where no one else has ever been.

The person you hurt the most doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

The mirror in my room is a Liar. It doesn’t reflect what’s inside.

I have no one to talk to, and no one I feel I am trying to find meaning in this nonsensical paradox, with my heart on fire, I am constantly trying to heal.

I am so attached to the past I could be an antique stone.

I want to die just once before my death so that I know what it feels like to be alive once again.

Life is the combination of storms and rainbows. Nothing is permanent.

Loving someone is slow dancing with emotions in a burning room.

These silent Conversations that I have with myself might just end up killing me in the end.

Attachment of anything is the distraction of everything.

Serve you right if something did get you, you useless lot of cry-babies!

I’m worth more dead than alive. Don’t cry for me after I’m gone; cry for me now.

Socialism is not a science, a sociology in miniature: it is a cry of pain.

I’m a guy, but I’m not afraid to cry. Not all of the time. But when I’m watching a movie, I’ll sometimes shed a tear, especially ‘Moulin Rouge’.

The tears I have cried over Germany have dried. I have washed my face.

It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.

What I cry out for, like every being, with my whole life and all my earthly passion, is something very different from an equal to cherish: it is a God to adore.

Don’t cut my throat, I may want to do that later myself.