Isn’t it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours.
LANG LEAVIn time she will learn, not to miss them.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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In cemeteries of memories, our love will lie in caskets.
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What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.
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She would fondly call him her Frankenstein, this man who was a patchwork of all the things she had ever longed for.
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But if you don’t love my every flaw, then you mustn’t love me- not at all.
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Loving you is like being ten years old again, scaling a tree with my eyes bright and skyward, wanting only to get higher and higher, without a thought of how I would get back down.
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We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.
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But it was now time for her to go away-to find someone who could show her what happiness was.
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The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison.
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Here’s to those who wish us well, and the rest can go to hell!
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There is a savagery to what you feel. It eats you up inside. But you will get through it; you don’t need his mouth to placate you. You don’t need his hands to untangle the butterfly knot in your heart. Your love is a fire that will burn itself out. Let it ravage you.
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But when I look at you, I just know instinctively, that despite the odds against you and although life will always find a way to test you, someday you’ll have everything you want. Your ending will be a happy one.
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Understand that we must lose our way, over and over, before we can find the best version of ourselves.
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I know love because I am in love. Because of how long I’ve loved. Because of the man I love.
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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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There is a certain quality to words that when strung in a certain way-has an almost hypnotic effect.
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You only get one chance to fall in love with your heart still whole.
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Sometimes I am caught between poetry and prose, like two lovers I can’t decide between. Prose says to me, let’s build something long and lasting. Poetry takes me by the hand, and whispers, come with me, let’s get lost for awhile.
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There are things we sacrifice for love, that we willingly give. But no one who loves you will ever ask you to give up more than you are willing.
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I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.
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I was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.
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When was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you’ve been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.
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People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.
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Here’s the story of my life. Hoping they would care about me or wishing they wouldn’t care so much.
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Love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.
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That night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.
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Searching for the one thing, that would set my sad soul free.
LANG LEAV