“With you, I can hold water I can hold light I can move the sun into the far night.”

Tasteless is a life without your courage, for courage is the salt to your bread. So dare, dare to stare that monster in the eye, that fear that fiddles under your bed.

Stars shine brighter when nights are darker and life flourishes most when the rain is heavier.

You were deafened by your own bewailing that you couldn’t hear love knocking on your door.

Do you see how the candle light glows as it performs its life purpose. Let your heart be the candlelight.

Sing the song of love and abundance the universe is waiting to dance to its tune.

They danced in chains celebrating freedom.

The sun never dimmed or diminished for bestowing its light on the moon.

An evolved soul wise and whole it is my life purpose to be.

The universe holds infinite layers of secrets, so that you can ask questions while you bow with humble confessions. That you are young and you do not know.

Perhaps the stars were once souls that conquered struggles and now they shine.

Don’t aim to be the best, aim to do the best.

Dare to dream and watch your dreams dare.

Your god is busy igniting fire and sharpening blades while my god and I, sip the tea.

Tell me not about the rainbow in your sky, tell me how the rainbow came to be.

Time is the most powerful; the most adequate painkiller, time is a gift of mercy granted by a merciful universe.

Do not be intimidated by the tides of june for you are the sun and you are of the moon, Do not be intimidated by the rain of august for you are the water life consumes.

A man is only as strong as the woman who holds him.

What thoughts are so important that it is worth holding on to them even when they make you miserable? Why are you holding on?

The only person thats gonna hold you back is yourself

I suppose these ginks who argue that way hold that because the rich man gets ice in the summer and the poor man gets it in the winter things are breaking even for both. Maybe so, but I’ll swear I can’t see it that way.

Hate gets going, it goes round, it gets older and tighter and older and tighter, until it holds a person inside it like a fist holds a stick.

Poetry is to hold judgment on your soul.

I hold that man is in the right who is most closely in league with the future.

We didn’t know it was simpler, did we? Those days of sunburnt youth and carefree adventure. Knowing that indestructible optimism would waver with experience – would I have gripped it a little tighter? Held on a little longer?