I have buried myself so deep in my words that sometimes I can’t tell if I am the person writing or the one hiding between the lines.
LANG LEAVThe sad thing is, she said, the moment you start to miss someone, it means they’re already gone.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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And if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. How love never really ends. How your heart breaks the same way it beats, again and again, and again.
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I don’t think all writers are sad, she said. I think it’s the other way around- all sad people write.
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And the weather was so damn sick of being predictable; I heard it began snowing in the Sahara and I wanted to tell you that I’ve changed.
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I have given so much to things that weren’t worth my time. When all along, it’s the people I love that I should have carried.
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Fear isn’t a reason when it comes to love–it’s an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that.
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We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.
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That night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.
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Let her be herself. Or she will be somebody else’s.
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Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love – love is you.
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We spoke once about lovers who kept finding each other, no matter how many times the world came between them. And I think I had to break your heart, and you had to break mine. How else could we know the worth of what we were given?
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I used to think people were like lighthouses. That they were there to protect you. But they’re no. People are lime whirlpools. They pull you in; they drag you under. You have to work so hard just to keep your head above water.
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I think that bothers me more than anything. That he could look in my eyes and tell me something that is completely contrary to the truth.
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I did not know that it was love until I knew.
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How many people have we known all our lives and never once loved. How many people have we loved and never known.
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I had no way of knowing, when I was sitting alone in that tiny bedroom, that in just a few short months, I would meet the love of my life: a man who lived across the ocean from me, in a little house by the sea.
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He and I When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am, and we just are.
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When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am and we just are.
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In many ways, a book is, in itself, a tiny universe. Each page is like a newly formed galaxy, fashioned from a single, pulsing thought. A book travels for days, for years, sometimes for centuries to meet you at an exact point in time.
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The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, with no hope of salvation.
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I am already nostalgic for what we have, even with you still here.
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I don’t think about myself as much as I used to. I guess that’s a good thing. I only think about the things that are missing from me.
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Strange how it mattered so much, when now it matters so little.
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I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.
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It is only the year that is ending. So why does it feel like the world is?
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It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.
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You must emerge from adversity, scathed but victorious to tell your story and, in turn, light the way for others.
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