“You’re holding the world and its woes. But in the end who’s holding you?”

She’s not your unicorn. She’s her own mother fucking dragon.

We are no different – we go back to anyone just to have something to do.

I heard you went to outer space, and while you dreamt – the planets and galaxies whispered my name.

She’s not your unicorn. She’s her own mother fucking dragon.

You and I flirt in ways they don’t know exist.

You look at me like supper, and I just want to be your last one this time.

You’re living the skyscraper life up high just so your ego can soar high.

You come back to ask me if I’m happy, and it shows me its you who isn’t.

We don’t belong to anyone. Half the time we don’t even belong to ourselves.

He says he wants to take me to Paris – but I see Amsterdam in his eyes.

Boys with skeletons in their closets – they make skeletons out of girls.

Lets admit it: we all play the game of hide and seek fairly well.

Please – stop living in boxes where you can’t breathe.

I want your madness, only if you promise to be mad about me.

I love things that smell like fire and taste like fumes: you.

We both chased our dreams and our dreams chased us. Yet we forgot to chase each other.

Don’t shy away from producing your own film and being in charge of its business end as well.

I just simply believe in having purposeful relations, period. That’s what its about at the end of the day.

It is the thirtieth of May, the thirtieth of November, a beginning or an end, we are moving into the solstice and there is so much here I still do not understand.

If I cling to circumstances I could feel not responsible. Only she who says she did not choose, is the loser in the end.

In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

In 1945, just at the end of World War II, the American poet Muriel Rukeyser wrote a remarkable book called The Life of Poetry. In it she says that on any particular day in the world.

At the end of the Beatles, I really was done in for the first time in my life. Until then, I really was a kind of cocky sod.

So I’ll continue to continue to pretend my life will never end, and flowers never bend with the rainfall.