“We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.”

My mother said the cure for thinking too much about yourself was helping somebody who was worse off than you.

I am not cruel, only truthful.

I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still.

I talk to God but the sky is empty.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal.

I dream too much, work too little.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

Cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

I am myself. That is not enough.

Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.

I want to be important. By being different. And these girls are all the same.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

The way in which the vast mass of the poor are treated by modern society is truly scandalous. They are herded into great cities where they breathe a fouler air than in the countryside which they have left.

The last time I felt alive – I was looking into your eyes. Breathing your air, touching your skin, saying goodbye. The last time I felt alive, I was dying.

If you’re sexy and you know it put your hands up in the air. Put your hands up in the air, girl, put your hands up.

Prostitution gives her an opportunity to meet people. It provides fresh air and wholesome exercise, and it keeps her out of trouble.

Environmental laws were not passed to protect our air and water, they were passed to get votes.

I’m breathing dreams like air, like there will never be enough of them to fill up the space in my lungs.

Loving you was grey you were never really here, never really away, I was always there always in reach but you were somewhere in the air.

air castles are often within our grasp late in life, but then they charm not.