It is only the year that is ending. So why does it feel like the world is?
LANG LEAVIn 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.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch.
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But tomorrow, tomorrow could be different, and that is what keeps me going today.
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Some days it felt like a burden, to smile for you. To keep the lines of worry from etching into your forehead.
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Here and now I love you, for the moment you have my heart. But you are entitled to my future, you have no ownership of my past.
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Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to know one other.
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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.
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Strange how it mattered so much, when now it matters so little.
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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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Searching for the one thing, that would set my sad soul free.
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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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I don’t think all writers are sad, she said. I think it’s the other way around- all sad people write.
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We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.
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I have always thought of memories as fragments, like colored glass shards in a kaleidoscope. It is the source of great beauty in our lives, yet the cause of such heartache. It remains the bridge between our past and present – it gives weight and dimension to our very existence.
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Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.
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Be patient. Your voice will find its way into the world, not in one loud instance but a steady trickle that turns into a deluge.
LANG LEAV






