“In her eyes, the sadness sings-of one who was destined, for better things.”

The only ones they can turn against you are those who were never with you.

I know love because I am in love. Because of how long I’ve loved. Because of the man I love.

The ache will always be there, but the intensity will fade, and you’ll find other beautiful things to fill your days with.

Who you love and who loves you back determines so much in your life.

Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur-your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.

Isn’t it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours.

Whatever path you choose will take you to the same destination. The only thing that should guide you is your intuition.

For me, that was the death of the word, or; because now, there is no other. It was the end of the word, and; for I love only you.

You may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn’t to save you but to show you how to save yourself.

The things that seem to matter less, are the ones we put on show.

You were none, and now you’re all; your worth will rise, the more I fall.

Love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.

I did not know that it was love until I knew.

Take me someplace where I can feel something-I want to give away my heart. Tell me his name so I can know love when it speaks to me. Give me someone I can write about.

I loved you once and now I must spend my whole life explaining why.

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.

I love you the way rain falls on a sunny day- a kind of marvelous sadness.

I’m a poet, a sad poet, who wrote about her, always and forever.

Black is not sad. Bright colours are what depress me. They’re so empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.

Without this sadness I wouldn’t even know who I am.

Now my ability to notice things and respond to things and be here is far more profound. With that comes happiness, with it comes sadness, but it’s a beautiful life.

There’s a sadness to all kinds of music if you want to hear it. There’s also happiness to it if you want to hear it.

Depression is the way my eyes have learnt how to close more than open.

Sometimes the impact of Mozart’s music is so immediate that the vision in the mind remains blurred and incomplete, while the soul seems to be directly invaded, drenched in wave upon wave of melancholy.