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.
LANG LEAVSome days it felt like a burden, to smile for you. To keep the lines of worry from etching into your forehead.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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The briefest moment shared with you-the longest on my mind.
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My father was a house,my mother was a home.
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Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met? No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left.
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I thought you were a keeper, I wish I could have kept you.
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We all have moments of darkness, moments when we are so unlike ourselves. And like vultures they wait for a slip, a misstep, then they take that part of us and try to convince the world that is all we are.
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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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He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for-lost in an instant-to the enormity of what I felt.
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I just hope you realize how much you mean to me. I just wish I could remind you of how beautiful you are. I’m sorry I haven’t told you in so long. But please don’t think I have given up on you. I will never give up on you. My arms are wide open. There is always a place for you here.
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I don’t know if what we had was love, but if it wasn’t, I hope never to fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it.
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Maybe we slip in and out of alternate worlds through our minds and our imaginations, picking up scar tissue from other dimensions.
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Every time I see my name, I hear it in your voice.
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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.
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It was pure bliss and absolute torture at the same time. I was in daze, as if my brain had suddenly packed up and gone on vacation. I could barely string words together in a sentence.
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Give me something I can write about.
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You can’t borrow from the future, to make up for the past.
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In time she will learn, not to miss them.
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Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.
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You talk to me in riddles, I will answer you in rhyme. I loved you for a little- I will love you for all time.
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The words I heard from you today, are said when there’s nothing left to say. What I would give to make you stay, I would give it all away.
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Because sooner or later, all kinds of love – crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.
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How much love is a person capable of giving? I thought I knew the answer until I met you.
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Yes, we took it all for granted-but isn’t that such a blessed thing? When you’re not even thinking about what you have, because you never imagine you someday won’t.
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You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.
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I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.
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That’s the thing about writers – on one hand everything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.
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It should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.
LANG LEAV