“Learn it well. Wear your hair wild, embrace your anger and learn to wield it without fear as a sword against those who hurt you.”

It happens suddenly. One day, your parents don’t pick you up any more.

Stop looking for people who only want your beauty and turn away your chaos and darkness.

I know how to live with a blade and teach it not to make me bleed.

I am trying to stop being the ashes that you left behind.

We do not abandon those who truly accept us for who we are.

Womanhood is rich with unlearning. How to unlearn the way you hate your body.

You have to choose between freedom and comfort. You choose freedom. Of course you choose freedom.

I am so hungry for someone to love me.

And often when she finds herself missing him, missing the good moments with him, she whispers to herself, ‘The absence of you has taught me how to love myself. So thank you, my darling, my dearest.

We do not abandon those who truly accept us for who we are, and if you could save all the people who accepted you completely, wouldn’t you go back to save them too?

Survival is ugly. Healing is messy. Self-love is complicated. It is your hardest days as much as your best days that help you grow. All of this is part of being human.

Knowledge after all is a dark art.

If two Gods can love each other with no objection from the divine or the universe, who are mortals to tell other mortals who they can and cannot love?

But I am both nightmare and sin.

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.

You know you’re living right when you wake up, brush your hair – and confetti falls out!

May the hair on your toes never fall out!

The brighter the hair the closer to god.

He knew that hair couldn’t feel; he kissed her hair.

It is foolish to tear one’s hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.

And her hair smells like a thousand lilac roses drenched in rain.

I don’t need the best hairstyle or the best body. Just give me a ball at my feet and I’ll show you what I can do.

It is not these well-fed long-haired men that I fear, but the pale and the hungry-looking.