“No matter what you’re told, there is honesty in passion and truth in messiness.”

If the wind itself turned to silk, singing ballads in my lungs, it couldn’t even hope to match the softness of your touch.

Oh, you fool. You turned cold and stopped loving when the world needed it most.

The warmth is spring is near. It smells of hope and cheer. The budding bulbs of daffodils will end the endless fear.

Sunshine comes after rain. Rain comes after sunshine. Joy and sadness remain in an eternal back and forth. Such balance hold the world in place.

I trust the universe. If we exist for each other, time will bring is both back to our beginning.

I sacrificed you for life, hope, optimism. Do you expect me to regret that?

You are a question that I’ll never know the answer to.

We are gardens. We flourish and grow. Despite the rain, despite the snow.

I’ve learned the difference between being a good person and being a popular.

The hardest goodbyes are the ones you never got to say.

My dearest contradiction. You are soft and obliterating, like the moon’s glare upon a sinner.

I’d prefer to wield a rose than to wield the gun.

We parted sadly, like children in the street on a pleasant june afternoon.

I ache and long and feel in a language older than ours; one without words or phrases, consisting only of melancholy.

Every word I write is crude and weak when it comes to conveying you how much I appreciate you.

We are all marks of condensation on polished glass; steadily fading away.

Richard Pryor is, in my mind, the most honest comedian. He bared his soul to people. I think that’s why everybody loved him so much.

And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience only for the sake of present ease or gratification

Just like my Uncle Charlie used to say, just before he sprung the trap: He said, You can’t cheat and honest man! Never give a sucker an even break or smarten up a chump!

You can’t cheat an honest man.

People often think I’m a faker, but I’m usually honest, in a certain way–in such a way that often nobody believes me!

It was stressful to live as a child in a Sylvian Hills. It’s always been complicated, honestly… I do not really want to tell you, actually. It bothers me that you want me to tell this.

Honesty is admired, and starves.

Honesty is praised and left in the cold.