Strange how it mattered so much, when now it matters so little.
LANG LEAVSome pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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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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I think there is a sense of ownership in knowing, isn’t there? You let people in, and they claim parts of you-they fly their flag over uncharted territory and from then onward-you cease to belong wholly to yourself.
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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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I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.
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Of all you’ve used against me, the worst has been my words.
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We number our days and divide our seasons. We endlessly define what it is to be in love. When in truth, spring blurs into summer and always has, long before that line was ever drawn.
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I know there is a terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of stardust, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.
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You are a writer bleeding words onto a page. And the ones who hate you will trample on that page. And the ones who love you will cut you, to keep you bleeding.
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Yes, I think it is entirely possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met. Physicality is an expression of intimacy- not an indication of it.
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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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She can feel it down to her very core-this is her time. She will not only climb mountains-she will move them too.
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There are days when the melancholy settles on you like a sudden change in weather. The kind of sadness that is intangible. Like the presence of an ache where you can’t pinpoint exactly where it hurts, you just know it does.
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Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.
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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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If they were meant to be in your life, nothing cover ever make them leave. If they weren’t, nothing in the world could make them stay.
LANG LEAV