“If I am the night’s last lonely lantern you can count on me I won’t let the darkness creep in I won’t let the light abandon you.”

I like to think that somewhere out there there’s a little bit of magic and not everyone knows a broken heart.

Your ever after could start tomorrow. Keep holding on.

Sometimes your heart just needs to be taken off its leash.

Life will forever be too short but time is never wasted when spent making your heart happy.

Kiss me tenderly, but if you take my breath away, promise you’ll help me catch it.

Be not a slave to love but still let it in.

I can’t promise that tomorrow will be better because I don’t know how long happiness will take to find you I only know it will.

I think they dipped you in starlight I’ll spend forever lost in your glow.

If I could ask just one last thing it’d be that you could let me go as autumn does its leaves.

I’ll keep reaching out my hand hoping one day you’ll be brave enough to take it.

This is all that’s left carry on and try not to feel so much.

Tomorrow looks better with you in it.

I will be the light you can cling to when your darkness lingers.

She is cold like the autumn breeze that sweeps the leaves away.

No matter how desperately I want to stop falling I am already in motion.

If we let love in the light will follow the shadow will creep back to their corners the consuming dark will vanish morning will find us we will make it to the dawn together.

A bad word from a colleague can darken a whole day. We need encouragement a lot more than we admit, even to ourselves.

My breaths give out the stench of dark black pain, that rooted from the poison you gifted me with love.

I seek out the good but keep my senses on alert but then there are moments when all I want to do is drown in the sea.

Darkness attracts me, it’s the only time, I can cry in peace.

The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color-line, — the relation of the darker to the lighter races of men in Asia and Africa, in America and the islands of the sea.

And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

This idea of perpetual happiness is crazy and overrated, because those dark moments fuel you for the next bright moments; each one helps you appreciate the other.

No durable things are built on violent passion. Nature grows her plants in silence and in darkness, and only when they have become strong do they put their heads above the ground.