“Life is a velvet crowbar hitting you over the head, youre bleeding syrup amour, bleeding to death.”

Taking time for your art is taking time for yourself.

I never stopped writing about what was actually going on in my life. There’s nothing to hide.

I love to sing and I really love to write, but in terms of being onstage, I’m not that comfortable.

Even if you’re the best singer in the world, there’s a good chance no one will ever hear you.

When I found somebody who I fell in love with, it made me feel different than I felt the rest of the day.

When you’re a gypsy at heart, it probably suits you to be traveling.

When you’re an introvert like me and you’ve been lonely for a while, and then you find someone who understands you, you become really attached to them. It’s a real release.

I’m interested in the gorgeous side of life, but also familiar with the dark side too.

No one compares to you, but there’s no you, except in my dreams tonight.

You do things so fast, you end up having so many different lifestyles all in one short time.

I have a great appreciation for our world’s history. I learn from my own mistakes, I learn from the mistakes we’ve made as a human race.

I only know how to do me, so that’s just what I’m going to do.

My idea of a true feminist is a woman who feels free enough to do whatever she wants.

Every time I close my eyes, it’s like a dark paradise.

I want to find someone who’s really magnetic but who isn’t going to do anything bad to me. It’s hard.

Sometimes I wish I was a beautiful machine so I could resist your kiss and not cry when you’re mean.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish ’twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.

A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you.

A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you.

A man’s heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed. It won’t stretch to make room for you.

A mind can bleed a heart to death.

I have tried so hard, to even bleed you out of me, and yet somehow you stand still.

Love is like a wild rose; the thorns will only make your heart bleed if you touch it without care.

My heart bleeds at the thought of being unable to live all the lives I have planned in my head.