“She is like a beautiful night. Full of stars and darkness.”

We have each other, we make love and then we hate each other and we become strangers.

Are we still in the same world? Then why do I feel so far away from you? As if our two worlds were separated.

I love the way he loves me when I can’t love myself.

Don’t you see? That I kiss you a little harder. That I hug you a little harder. I want you to heal me.

Waiting a lifetime to touch your lips again wouldn’t be too long.

Touch me. Make my body bloom. A million cherry blossoms.

Because, in the end, it was just promises.

And how can you be so bad for me when I feel like I’m flying?

Because I always ruin everything. Maybe it’s better if I let you go.

If you try every day, then, you’re much stronger than you think.

And she started flying, just like the beautiful butterfly she is.

And I don’t know if it’s his lips or his fingers that make thousands of roses bloom on my skin.

Maybe one day you’ll see, you’ll see what I saw.

I could have given your heart a thousand roses. But you didn’t want one.

She believes in a wonderful world where unicorns exist. That’s why she believed in you.

We love each other because we can’t do otherwise.

I hate luxury. I exercise moderation, It will be easy to forget your vision and purpose one you have fine clothes, fast horses and beautiful women. [In which case], you will be no better than a slave, and you will surely lose everything.

Taught from their infancy that beauty is woman’s sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.

Anything forced is not beautiful.

Nature is beautiful because it looks like Art; and Art can only be called beautiful if we are conscious of it as Art while yet it looks like Nature.

Beauty is one way in which truth essentially occurs as unconcealment.

Beauty shames the ugly. Strength shames the weak. Death shames the living – and the Ideal shames us all.

Look closely. The beautiful may be small.

When I spoke of “beauty”, I was thinking of Rilke’s notion that the beautiful is nothing but the beginning of the terrible, and of Hölderlin’s idea that the beautiful can unite extreme opposites in intimacy.