“It’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.”

I search for summer in every corner of september.

A lover should be two things at once: the wild and a home.

I can’t wait for the day to be wild again.

We are mind wanderers enchanted by the world inside our heads.

I can’t wait for half a love because I’ve always needed more.

Autumn sheds the leaves like tear drops.

All my summer memories sparkle in riverbed reflections.

Open your heart to life before summer is over.

We all need more solitude sundays.

She breathed love like air. She was Paris turned human.

The scent of rain is just as much as an illusion as your love.

My only home are the daydreams I dream.

From her glass of red wine she takes a sip of the evening sun.

I either want a love like poetry or no love at all.

I’m november numb and I think the world is, too.

I should have seen the goodbye in your eyes from the start.

You possess only whatever will not be lost in a ship wreck.

You might win some, but you just lost one.

The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow

Where is the Life we have lost in living? Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

I will act now. Success will not wait. If I delay, success will become wed to another and lost to me forever. This is the time. This is the place. I am the person.

There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.

Making pictures, for an actress, is like betting, for a gambler. Each time you make a picture you try to analyze why you won or lost.

Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?