“Free spirit, The world is yours.”

Sometimes we need a serving of sour grapes, to remind us of the state of our forgotten mistakes.

Don’t waste your sunshine on someone, who brings you nothing but rain.

And like the sun you bring me life, but still i keep my distance. In case you scald me-and i lose sight of myself.

Yeah lets grow old together, But promise me we’ll always have youth in our bones.

I mastered the art of not caring and wow it made me more daring.

I freed my mind from the weight of this world and found peace in lighter places.

The moon felt brighter, I smelt flowers as if they bloomed in winter and felt the sun bless my skin in darkness. My mind was healing and i could feel again.

Flowers grew where her feet followed and trees bowed above her head, but in her garden there were secrets beneath that soil, she could not forget.

In places where everyone is beautiful, i am tempted to toy with my ugly.

We have to be strong, for the ones that came before us, and the ones who are yet to come.

One defeat does not define you.

So be bold, run free and live like poetry.

So we danced in the rain and woke to the haze of a sunrise painted in honey.

So i swept our stardust under the rug, and discovered a magic of my own.

The longer you sit in the field, forcing fragile stalks together, the more you value the loops, the links that stay. And the less you miss the ones that snap and blow away.

Even when your tears have soaked through the last pages of your book, the sun will dry them and illuminate every word of your story.

Of all the hokum with which this country [America] is riddled, the most odd is the common notion that it is free of class distinctions.

A free man who lives among the ignorant strives as far as he can to avoid their favors. A free man acts honestly, not deceptively.

as a writer you are free. You are about the freest person that ever was. Your freedom is what you have bought with your solitude, your loneliness.

It reminds me why I chose Dauntless in the first place: not because they are perfect, but because they are alive. Because they are free.

The relentless attempts of totalitarian regimes to prevent free thought and new ideas and the persistent assertion of their own rightness bring on them an intellectual stasis which they project on to the nation at large.

Late hours, nocturnal cigars, and midnight drinkings, pleasurable though they may be, consume too quickly the free-flowing lamps of youth, and are fatal at once to the husbanded candle-ends of age.

Italian journalism is free because it serves one cause and one purpose… mine!

It is not easy for a people conditioned by fear under the iron rule of the principle that might is right to free themselves from the enervating miasma of fear.