“All my childhood heroes lived on the page. Now they live in me.”

Girlhood is confronting the parts of you that you think are too dark for anyone to love.

If he truly loves you, he will love you when you are an ocean breeze but also when you are a summer storm. You were not made to be loved in parts. You were meant to be loved as a whole.

What do you do when you see a love so pure, so completely unwavering other than bow to it?

Burn every memory that does not help you grow. Destruction, too, can be necessary.

There is a difference between holy and pure. Holy is also the way the anger boils inside our throats.

There is a knowing in her, she hears them say, that makes her untamable. She has known since she was a child that she is observant in a way that makes them uncomfortable.

Anxious people are resorceful, they need to know how to keep the sea of panic at bay so they do not drown.

When I was a little girl, I had a friend and sometimes I wondered if he was born on the day the Titanic sank.

I know how to handle noise better than I can handle silence.

All he knew was chaos and this mortal world was obsessed with order

Seek no homes in other people’s chests.

The greatest wish I have ever had is to create with words, what wizards cannot and what magic never has.

The woman who tames fires and snakes and savours bones.

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.

For me, the beauty of the blank page, or empty screen,staring up at nine thirty after two cups of coffee and a deep breath remains unique.

When he is wounded, I bleed. {page 262 of John Adams}

When a reader enters the pages of a book of poetry, he or she enters a world where dreams transform the past into knowledge

Look at Nature. Nature is a book from which we must learn. Each object in it is a page of that book.

In your hands winter is a book with cloud pages that snow pearls of love.

Your page stands against you and says to you that you are a thief.

I’m writing on a blank page full of chances and hope.

Read me gently and unhurriedly. Please. My pages crumble at your slightest touch.