“Nobody lived my life. Nobody cried my tears. So don’t judge me.”

I think it’s ridiculous that you need to look a certain way to be conventionally pretty.

If you respect yourself and you love yourself, that’s the only way anybody else is going to.

Just don’t hold back. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes and stuff.

I think what I’ve come to now is, that fear is good; it’s what life is about. You need to be afraid because fear gives you the strength to carry on important tasks.

All I try to do in the press is to be honest about something that I really care about.

There’s no reason to regret anything. Regret is a waste.

I know that people’s judgments are fast, and in a split second I will ruin it.

Hate me for who I am, I don’t care. At least I’m not pretending to be someone I’m not.

Vanity is a silly thing to be obsessed with because, it sounds cliché but it leads you to emptiness; it goes away.

If you are going to make something forever, you should be yourself.

You don’t need to give reasons for the things you do – you just have to do what you want. And sometimes the thing that seems messed up to everyone else is what’s right for you. You have to do it and not be ashamed of it.

Appreciate what you’ve got and follow your heart and you’re all good. Don’t over-complicate things.

I stand by every mistake I’ve ever made, so judge away.

When you love something, you get to know it. Then you feel the ownership and if it changes, you only love it as far as you know it because then you’re like, “What is this?”

I have no idea what I’m doing, and that’s kind of how I love it.

Anytime I hear that somebody’s really rich, the first question is, ‘Do you do anything with it? Or do you, like, chill? You just sit on it?’

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.

The crowd one day cried, “Crucify him,” and the whole world united to murder the Son of God, because in their ignorance they knew Him not.

Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end.

And I sighed and wept for what could not be–and for all that could have been.

Snow can burn your eyes but only people make you cry.