“And darling, I hope your remember to kiss the ghosts goodnight. They are only older versions of you that you have had to discard and forget.”

If you think the value of a woman is only in the curve of her hips and the shape of her breasts, you do not understand how to read beneath her jagged lines, the sacred geometry that make up her glorious heart and her beautiful mind.

Lies are often truth-shaped. They’re only containers you must turn inside out and shake till the truth tumbles out, wide eyed and confused, blinking in a light it never thought it would see.

Sometimes, you are going to miss a person who was an almost to you. And feel sad because there is no name for that feeling.

Perfection in imperfection. Someone whose flaws work well with yours. Infuse modern love with the hues of older romance. An agency that offers something real in a world that was increasingly becoming plastic.

I used to only pick up a pen for myself but now I pick one up for you too. Is there such a thing as an unselfish love poem? I don’t know, but I’m trying.

You see, there can be no life without death.

I wonder how I have carried so many regrets without even realising they were there.

If we had no fears to master, how else would we grow?

Forgiveness is easier to give to others than to yourself. But I am slowly learning.

I don’t know how to love people well yet. But I know I can love you the way you deserve, if you let me.

Even with the antidepressants, the grief seeped through the dangerous cracks in the scaffolding holding me up.

Without heartache there are no lessons to gain.

And power, power was so much more important than beauty ever could be.

Remind ourselves that grief may feel longer and more poignant than happiness but it still has an ending.

Perhaps he should have paid attention to the snakes coiled inside me waiting to strike.

It’s how I learn there are a multitude of ways to say I love you. For so many you don’t have to use words at all.

Ghost stories really scare me. I have such a big imagination that after I watch a horror movie like ‘The Grudge’, I look in the corners of my room for the next two days.

The dead drug leaves a ghost behind. At certain hours it haunts the house.

On the other hand, what I like my music to do to me is awaken the ghosts inside of me. Not the demons, you understand, but the ghosts.

Prayer is a new, gracious, lasting will of the soul united and fast-bound to the will of God by the precious and mysterious working of the Holy Ghost.

If each dead person became a ghost, there’d be more than 100 billion of them haunting us all. Creepy, but cool.

I don’t want us to be together to drown the ghost of someone else.

The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.

You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you’ve found life. I’m no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are ‘yours’ and which are ‘mine.’ It’s past sorting out.