“I am already nostalgic for what we have, even with you still here.”

How do I thank my mother for giving me the life she desperately wanted to give herself.

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.

Most people want to save the entire world. It’s a lovely thought, and I’m not saying it’s not a noble pursuit-but it’s impossible to save everyone. You just have to pick your little corner of the world and focus your energy there. That’s the only way you will ever make a difference.

The most beautiful thing is not when you learn to live without something: it’s the moment you realize you never needed it in the first place.

you cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.

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.

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.

I have happened in so many places, to so many people – the essence of me lives on in these nuances, these moments.

How many people have we known all our lives and never once loved. How many people have we loved and never known.

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.

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.

Why do you write? he asked. So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply. Because you won’t take it from me.

I don’t think about myself as much as I used to. I guess that’s a good thing. I only think about the things that are missing from me.

Fear isn’t a reason when it comes to love–it’s an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that.

I was loved in my dreams last night. It echoed through me like thunder-I felt it through and through.

Some days I feel like my soul is being pulled in one direction and my heart in another.

Nostalgia doesn’t make sense, because it’s like bringing the memories back to be a special part of my day or to be part of my week. And I’m inside my memories the same way I’m inside my everyday life.

Sometimes I feel sad, but this is not nostalgia, because I don’t want time to come back.

We see daily that our lives are terrible and little, without continuity, buyable and salable at any moment, mere blips on a screen, that this is the way we live now. Memory marketed as nostalgia; terror reduced to mere suspense, to melodrama.

There’s something about the sound of a train that’s very romantic and nostalgic and hopeful.

Unearthing buried bits of nostalgia from deep within and spreading the broken, jagged pieces out in front of you like a display of junk at a garage sale.

Wanting to be understood, as adults, can be our most violent form of nostalgia.

Nostalgia is a form of depression both for a society and an individual.

Philosophy is really nostalgia, the desire to be at home.