“I will never find the faces for all the goodbyes I’ve made.”

Reality is one of the possibilities I cannot afford to ignore.

I’m afraid to live any place but in expectation. I’m no life-risk.

It is easy to display a wound, the proud scars of combat. It is hard to show a pimple.

Remember when I moved in you And the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was Hallelujah.

European children starved and watched their parents scheme and die. Here we grew up with toy whips. Early warning against our future leaders, the war babies.

Blessed are you who circled desire with a blade, and the garden with fiery swords, and heaven and earth with a word.

If you don’t become the ocean, you’ll be seasick every day.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as a secret to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

Only one thing made him happy and now that it was gone everything made him happy.

We are not mad. We are human. We want to love, and someone must forgive us for the paths we take to love, for the paths are many and dark, and we are ardent and cruel in our journey.

My abandoned narcotics have abandoned me.

I am not the one who loved, it’s love that chooses me.

As our eyes grow accustomed to sight they armor themselves against wonder.

I’m planning a catastrophe.

I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you, I’m glad you stood in my way.

First of all, nothing will happen and a little later nothing will happen again.

Deep down, most adults hate people who go against the grain.

My reasoning they may counter; my speech they may distrust; my apparel they may disapprove; my face they may reject; and even my bargains may cause them suspicion; yet my love will melt all hearts liken to the sun whose rays soften the coldest clay.

The hardest part of ending is starting again.

I’ve seen my own death in dreams like this and it’s helped me appreciate life more. I’ve also seen my own life in dreams and it’s helped me appreciate death more.

Weak is he who permits his thoughts to control his actions; strong is he who forces his actions to control his thoughts.

But what’s real? You can’t find the truth. You just pick the lie you like best. As long as you know that everything’s a lie, you can’t hurt yourself.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us and we drown.

Do more than believe: practice.