“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.”

I have always thought of memories as fragments, like colored glass shards in a kaleidoscope. It is the source of great beauty in our lives, yet the cause of such heartache. It remains the bridge between our past and present – it gives weight and dimension to our very existence.

I missed you today. Between waking and sleeping, I thought of you.

There are many things in life you can postpone, but love isn’t one of them.

I can’t believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It’s like I’ve been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.

In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.

Let her be herself. Or she will be somebody else’s.

It should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.

Every time I see my name, I hear it in your voice.

Give me something I can write about.

Because sooner or later, all kinds of love – crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.

She would fondly call him her Frankenstein, this man who was a patchwork of all the things she had ever longed for.

I know how hard it is to have to love someone in secret.

That’s the thing about writers – on one hand everything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.

To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.

You won’t hear from me again after today, and I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be okay. Because I have to be.

Here and now I love you, for the moment you have my heart. But you are entitled to my future, you have no ownership of my past.

You got a lot but you just waste all yourself. They’ll forget your name soon and won’t nobody be to blame but yourself.

If I could stitch these wounds with letters every scar would bear your name.

As I became George professionally and everyone called me George, Yog became the name that people who knew me from before started to use. It became more valuable to me.

Whether someone like Klitschko wins, loses, draws, or gets knocked out in five seconds, he is still a big name.

Name a sexual disease, she got it like Sam Goody.

Emptiness is only a disguise for an intimacy of God’s, that God’s silence, the eerie stillness, is filled by the Word without words, by Him who is above all names, by Him who is all in all. And his silence is telling us that He is here.

I want to put my name in history. I love history.

The worst thing to call somebody is crazy. It’s dismissive.