“You have turned your heart into a museum of people you’ve loved to keep them alive inside you.”

There is an old saying that when you meet your soulmate, your heart will not palpitate. Your body will not grow hot. Instead, you will feel like suddenly, you understand everything, and the tranquility of a thousand moons will grow between you. That was how she felt when she saw him.

Nothing makes her want to be less adventurous or give up her eternal search for something to quench her wanderlust.

All the darkness of the night is no match for a single candle that refuses to die out.

She is alone, and oh how brilliantly she shines.

But I was brutal and violent in a way they tell women not to be.

Did the girl choose magic, or does magic choose the girl?

Does a heart that is rotted cease to be called a heart?

I will not give up the flowers in my heart for stones just because the world is a hard place. The world is only hard because it needs more flower hearted people.

Nothing will come of forcing yourself to compete your way out of trauma.

Even the day must let go of the sun and allow the light to disappear, so the darkness can live for a while. The only way out of grief is through it.

There is no justice in the world. You have to make your own, because believe me, the cosmos that gifted you the chaos, also created you with care.

You are not his princess. You are your own queen.

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.

A joy-filled home is like your own personal art museum

I carry on knowing that when I deteriorate, my body will be a museum of all I can do and all that hindered me.

We look too much to museums. The sun coming up in the morning is enough.

Reality TV to me is the museum of social decay.

We live in what virtually amounts to a museum – which does not happen to a lot of people.

I’m lucky. Usually you’re dead to get your own museum, but I’m still alive to see mine.

Give me a museum and I’ll fill it.

Living is like tearing through a museum.