“Your words may dim her light and make her cry, but you can never douse her flames how much ever you try.”

You can be both kind and considerate and know your worth at the same time.

Strength is crying, stumbling, falling, and yet finding the courage to get up and start yet again.

Cry it all out darling because sometimes what you need is a good cry.

At times, listening to the heart rather than the mind gives birth to enchanting moments.

Darling, you are a warrior, for even though each day feels like a battle, you keep fighting and live on.

When we struggle to find hope, sometimes hope finds us in the most unexpected moments and serendipitous ways.

Repentance and forgiveness both require courage and strength.

Growth is not a competition.

At times, a smile houses more sorrow than tears do.

Do not despair. The storm shall pass and the sun shall rise once more.

Choose peace over temporary pleasure.

Hang in there darling. The rain is necessary for the flower to fully grow.

Never let anyone mask their misbehavior towards you as authenticity.

How pleasant would it have been if our sorrows drowned themselves in our pellucid oceans of saline tears, beauty knows no limits.

Every album has its sad songs and happy songs.

Rain is the warm softness of a mother’s hand as she soothingly dabs that nasty smelling ointment on that bruised kneecap of yours, her delicate features creased with worry.

My mother told me, ‘Son, nobody else but God knows.’ And that’s what I’m about – reaching out to the people, crying with them, giving them hope.

When I go out and I meet people who are suffering and they come and talk to me, Mr. T cries, Mr. T who could break a man’s jaw with his fist.

You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

But what do they help if one seeks for counsel, for one cries this, and one cries that, and another cries something that is neither this nor that.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that’s the inheritor of our fear.