“People aren’t born sad; we make them that way.”

Every time a man takes from a woman’s body without her permission, he is disrespecting the womb from which he was born, he is defiling the place that protected him when he was at his most defenseless.

She takes her life and starts turning it into something beautiful without him. She learns how to love herself in the most intricate of ways. She goes out and spends time with her friends when she is lonely. She learns to love her alone.

The deepest love you can ever have is the love you have for yourself.

In a cave where everything is fragranced with water, she asks for a daughter instead of praying for a son.

The bad new is, what was shattered may never be possible to rebuild. The good new is, what you make in its place will be better than what was destroyed.

A wound left unhealed is bound to open again. That’s just what being human is.

Some people survive and talk about it. Some people survive and go silent. Some people survive and create. Everyone deals with unimaginable pain in their own way, and everyone is entitled to that, without judgment.

All because you were born into a family that could afford these things for you. This is called a privilege and you must never forget it.

Every love does not have to be made of desire. Some loves are kept for the people who stand by you through everything. Some soulmates are sisters not lovers. Some loves are for those who give you hope. And some for the strength, for wisdom, for dreams.

I wish they could see the tenderness in the way the darkness takes the night’s hand.

No one told me love could be a God of both living and dying. That girls who love girls do not just drown, they also float.

We remember that family is not just those of blood. But also those we choose to love.

A war is still a war even if it is inside your head, did you know this?

The loneliest thing you can ever do is take very instance where you should grow and waste it by only thinking how could this happen to you?

Bathe with ice-cold water of the ocean just to feel something again.

Perhaps magic is in the habit of choosing sharp-eyed girls who ask too many questions for their own good. Perhaps it chooses girls who are not unloved, but not fully loved either.

I love sex. It should be animalistic, it should be sadistic, it should at times be masochistic. There are few rules and moral conventions.

Activity and sadness are incompatible.

Happiness is a little bit of art on a sad day.

I am so saddened and grossed out by young women who look like creepy, old aliens because of their new Barbie noses and lips. Is that a smile or a grimace?

I’m sad for adults who want to be children. And children who want to be adults.

Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity.

Happy all the time even when she’s sad.

The sadness in her eyes was more beautiful than any sunrise.