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You have your look. That lethal fusion of mischief and innocence, the one that maddens statues with lust.

Related Topics

Innocence Lust Madness Mischief Yourself

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

Do we only love the things we lose?
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The hardest goodbyes are the ones you never got to say.
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I sacrificed you for life, hope, optimism. Do you expect me to regret that?
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I’d prefer to wield a rose than to wield the gun.
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I trust the universe. If we exist for each other, time will bring is both back to our beginning.
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I ache and long and feel in a language older than ours; one without words or phrases, consisting only of melancholy.
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The best people give more to the world than they can ever hope to get from it.
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If the wind itself turned to silk, singing ballads in my lungs, it couldn’t even hope to match the softness of your touch.
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And I must learn every language to find a word that describes your beauty.
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Branches bow, longing to reach the crisp, punctured leaves, their old shedded skin.
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One day, you’ll leave. And my heart will close like a weeping ipomoea never to open again.
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Every word I write is crude and weak when it comes to conveying you how much I appreciate you.
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I’ve learned the difference between being a good person and being a popular.
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The flowers burn the grass, a thousand splendid suns; and life returns to everything as hope refills my lungs.
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Look beyond their words. A whole world lies in what people never say.
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