Don’t you get it?” he said. “The ones who are afraid of heights don’t trust themselves enough to jump.
LANG LEAVIf you love me for what you see, only your eyes would be in love with me.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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Love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.
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I build my walls from the mess they leave.
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When you lose a person, a whole universe goes along with them.
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Where the strangers we meet, take us down one way streets, and forgetting is something we’re taught.
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Anything and everything, the two almost the same–everything says, have it all; anything, one to claim.
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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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It was a kind love, a selfless love. I was a dreamer, and you were a traveler. We met at the crossroads. 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.
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Where are you?” She asked. “I have been searching all my life.” “Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.
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Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.
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I don’t know how you are so familiar to me-or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before-in another time, a different place, some other existence.
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The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison.
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But you’re not the kind of girl who builds her house from sticks; you are a fortress, stubborn and strong. Do not give away the keys to the kingdom to anyone less than a king.
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When was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you’ve been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.
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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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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.
LANG LEAV