“Sunsets, my love, are just abstract paintings of your eyes.”

May your cold nights die a warm death.

Love is wealth in the pockets of the heart.

Don’t bring her dead flowers, take her to where the flowers live.

Her light is true love, her darkness a seductive mistress.

Last night (we exchanged so much DNA) we became each other.

Soak me in your moonshine and fuck me on fire.

My day feels too damn organized, you should come over tonight and make a mess out of me.

Half my mind is sex and songs.

When they question you about my disappearance, Do not tell them I am lost inside you.

What do you do when the passion burns out? Start another fire.

Her kiss is a sun-burn that never heals.

She comes in form of blistering light : her love is a screaming sun.

Caution never wrote a love story.

If it weren’t for misery some people would never be happy.

Her heart is too young to be walking with a cane.

She’s got the look of a woman with lightening up her sleeve.