“Love today. Gone tomorrow. Now you pass each other like strangers on a busy street.”

Its okay to have high standards. You deserve exactly what you want.

Whats so poetically beautiful about my world now, is that its finally mine.

She brought the kind of light that was similar to the sun right after it rains.

I fell like the rain on a perfectly sunny afternoon. It rushed over me out of nowhere. It opened up the skies.

I hope hearing my name makes you break. Not all at once, but little by little.

Mark my words. Memories of me will haunt you when you sleep at night. No one forgets a love like mine.

You were the type of person who would put bandaid over a knife wound, and casually as if I was okay.

I knew he could be my North Star when he made me feel something after being numb for so long.

Sometimes its easier to focus on the pain you’ve felt. Instead, think of the strength you’ve gained.

She decided to name the stars. And as each one fell from the sky, her body got warmer. Her heart opened.

Jump. See whose at the bottom when you land on your feet.

Like deep water, she was silent. His lips tasted of salt. He was both addicting and bitter all at once.

I’m choosing to build castle out of the things that nearly destroy me.

I found him in all the chaos, and that was when my world started making sense again.

She’s got a glow about her. The kind that says- She’s been through some dark pain, but she’s lighting her own way now.

There is something poetic about the way she floats when she walks now.

All men die. You may say: ‘Is that encouraging?’ Surely yes, for when a man dies, his blunders, which are of the form, all die with him, but the things in him that are part of the life never die, although the form be broken.

The corporate revolution will collapse if we refuse to buy what they are selling – their ideas, their version of history, their wars, their weapons, their notion of inevitability. Remember this: We be many and they be few. They need us more than we need them.

Beauty is the enemy . We try to conquer not feeling beautiful all our lives. It’s a battle that can’t be won. There’s no definition of beauty. The only way to achieve beauty is to feel it from inside without breaking down into individual physical attributes.

The symbol of all art is the Prism. The goal is unrealism. The method is destructive. To break up the white light of objective realism, into the secret glories which it contains.

It’s a fairytale so tragic there’s no prince to break the spell. I don’t believe in magic, but for you I will.

Time is a factory where everyone slaves away earning enough love to break their own chains.

You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.

You know, what can I say. If a relationship can’t work out, make a record.