“You are not an open wound, they just want you to think you are.”

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

A mess of beautiful contradictions make her whole, she wears fire for skin but a storm lives in her soul.

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

Some people will always taste like fire and leave the ones that love them tasting like ash.

Those freckles make you seem like a galaxy of stars, just waiting to be explored and loved.

Tell your daughters how you love your body. Tell them how they must love theirs.

I hope you find someone who knows how to love you when you are sad.

You must understand: they fear you. There is nothing scarier in their minds than a girl who knows the power of her flames.

Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Some are made of witchcraft and wolf and a little bit of vice.

Some people are born with tornadoes in their lives, but constellations in their eyes. Other people are born with stars at their feet, but their souls are lost at sea.

Only the brave and the broken are kind in this world.

Let it hurt. Let it bleed. Let it heal. And let it go.

Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.

You are damaged and broken and unhinged. But so are shooting stars and comets.

She wears strength and darkness equally well, the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.

Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lightning in their souls. Thunder in their hearts. And chaos in their bones.