But it was now time for her to go away-to find someone who could show her what happiness was.
LANG LEAVWhere the strangers we meet, take us down one way streets, and forgetting is something we’re taught.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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I know you are scared. Who could blame you? Love is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are a girl walking into the storm.
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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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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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I’m the one having to pander to you. I’m sick of being the one doing all the chasing. I’m not asking you to make me a priority – I know you’ve got a lot going on. But at least meet me halfway.
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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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For she is his poet, and he is her poetry.
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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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Here’s the story of my life. Hoping they would care about me or wishing they wouldn’t care so much.
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I thought you were a keeper, I wish I could have kept you.
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What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.
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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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To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
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If you love my heart and mind, then you would love me, for all that I’m. But if you don’t love my every flaw, then you mustn’t love me- not at all.
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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.
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She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.
LANG LEAV