“People are good. No matter what. Beneath the rage and fear lies a wounded heart. We must do what we can do to heal it.”

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.

The only person you’ll spend your entire life with is yourself. You should be your first focus.

Branches bow, longing to reach the crisp, punctured leaves, their old shedded skin.

Make the choice; to be comfortable or to be alive.

The flowers burn the grass, a thousand splendid suns; and life returns to everything as hope refills my lungs.

Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.

I installed a skylight in my apartment, the people who live above me are furious!

Do nothing, only keep agitating, debating; and things will destroy themselves.

And I thank God I believe in God, or I would probably be enormously angry right now.

Propaganda must facilitate the displacement of aggression by specifying the targets for hatred.

Why can’t we control our anger? because we love perfection. make a little room for imperfection in our lives.

No person is important enough to make me angry.

Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.