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

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.

You can’t borrow from the future, to make up for the past.

Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.

People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.

The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, with no hope of salvation.

How much love is a person capable of giving? I thought I knew the answer until I met you.

And if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. How love never really ends. How your heart breaks the same way it beats, again and again, and again.

It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.

I know you were born with your heart already broken. But the world began in pieces and somehow made itself whole.

I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.

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.

To will oneself moral and to will oneself free are one and the same decision.

To be oneself, simply oneself, is so amazing and utterly unique an experience that it’s hard to convince oneself so singular a thing happens to everybody.

Justice demands seclusion, it permits sorrow rather than anger, and it prescribes the most careful abstention from all the nice pleasures of putting oneself in the limelight.

Self-consciousness is not knowledge but a story one tells about oneself.

What one has, one ought to use; and whatever he does, he should do with all his might.

There is no such thing as an empty word, only one that is worn out yet remains full.

When one has a grateful heart, life is so beautiful.

One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.