“Never hold her back from the things she does, with passion in her heart and love in her soul.”

In the veins of poets flows ink, with which they create words for eternity. When they die a part of their souls will still stay alive in their poetry.

Beneath every scar there lies a tragedy, that we try to heal through writing poetry.

I hope you can feel me when I think of you.

Never mess with a poets heart for they know how to turn broken pieces in a written masterpiece of art.

Baby, tonight prepare yourself for a perfect storm, I will come over you like a hurricane with a terrifying force.

Before you let someone dive too deep in depths of your soul, make sure he knows how to swim.

Sometimes I write Because I don’t know what I’m feeling deep inside, or because I feel too many different feelings at the same time. And if I read it then it may make sense and will help me understand, what’s going on in my heart and head.

Healing is like dealing with the moods of the moon. Somedays you feel the pain at its fullest and you don’t know how to make it through it, and other days it feels a little bit more bearable.

I was not always strong. But I was always brave. And to be brave is strong enough.

She was poetry for a man who wasn’t able to feel her words.

Poetry has its own language which can only be understood, when you read it with your heart and feel it within your soul.

I knew it was real love the moment I could bare myself to you naked (without taking my clothes off) and I could show you all my scars (the ones that are invisible to the naked eye) and you loved me even more.

You will find poems hidden on my whole body, Which I would never be able to put into words and write them out.

She is someone who falls in love with imperfections. Like the moon with all her craters, hearts with cracks, and souls with scars. For she knows they carry the deepest and truest love of all deep inside.

whenever I look at you my thoughts are full of sensual poetry. But would I write about my feelings for you, my pen would begin to glow and my paper would immediately catch fire.

I never valued the meaning of words that much, Until I realized how healing they are.

The God of all consolation, who heals the broken hearts and takes care of the wounds, hear our prayer:

Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.

Our mind is enriched by what we receive, our heart by what we give.

The care of God for us is a great thing, if a man believe it at heart: it plucks the burden of sorrow from him.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.

I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.

Those who suffer most cry out the least.