“Despite the lack of colors, she was a work of art.”

You were never good at words. So I tried to learn silence.

This heaviness is too much for one soul.

I believe one of the most dangerous things in the world is living.

It is no longer skin that I wear. It is you.

My poetry breaks and cries. I think I really need to let you go this time.

The saddest song you’ll ever know is the one my heart plays for you.

You left me with nothing. But the gift to write the most beautiful sad poems.

My lonely soul drowns in empty bodies.

Nothing feels like home anymore. Even this heart of mine demands to be yours.

To love you is a battle that takes wars to stop.

It’s okay. I’ve been here before. The truth is I’m quite good with goodbyes.

It hurts. That every time I smile, you believe me.

I tell myself I can live without you. And it terrifies me that I don’t know how to.

I loved you in pain and when I began to bleed I called it magic.

I ache to know how it feels to be without having a weight on my soul.

I will never find peace in my broken pieces.

The painter has the Universe in his mind and hands.

I went to a high school for the performing arts and I lived and breathed music. It kept me focused; it kept me sane.

The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing.

The greatest fine art of the future will be the making of a comfortable living from a small piece of land.

All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique.

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing.

The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore.

Take care to sell your horse before he dies. The art of life is passing losses on.