“I am so tired of waking to the blank canvas of morning and realizing it won’t be painted with you.”

Be gentle, always delicate with every soul you meet, for every single morning you wake up, there is someone Wishing, silently and secretly, that they had not.

You have never had to steal my breath, or take it away, somehow you have always managed to convince me to hand it over freely.

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim.

I have blisters on my feet from dancing alone with your ghost.

I am made from the creaking beams and rusted nails of a lonely vessel on a lonely sea. I am covered and coated, dusted with old salt water and the frail residue of moonlight.

Please don’t break this heart, it’s endured so very much, it survived the fall.

Rise and find the grace, for it is all around you.

Adventure lives a whisper beyond our comfort zones, just half a breathe after No turns into Yes.

Oh what we see when we finally stop looking.

I would rather wear honest tears than the most beautiful and elaborately faked smile.

Lay down your roots now, let them wrap tight around mine, sink deep in the soil.

Wherever I am, whatever I am doing, you are in it all.

I stare at your lips and fall in love with the way they form what you say.

Was I born patient or have the years of waiting taught me to be?

All we can control in this silly and wildly perfect life is the love that we choose to give out without any regard to ever getting it back in return.

I would rather hurt, and walk through the flames you leave, than never feel you.

Blank cartridges should never be used against a mob, nor should a volley be fired over the heads of the mob even if there is little danger of hurting persons in the rear. Such things will be regarded as an admission of weakness, or an attempt to bluff, and may do more harm than good.

I try to block out everything that distracts me. Even a big play, I blank it out.

My eyes went blank, and I stared off, and the music started. It was raining, and the sun was shining at the same time.

If they had said that the sun or the moon had gone out of the heavens, it could not have struck me with the idea of a more awful and dreary blank in creation than the words: Byron is dead!

Ignorance is a blank sheet, on which we may write; but error is a scribbled one, on which we must first erase.

I want an infinitely blank book and the rest of time.

It’s so fine and yet so terrible to stand in front of a blank canvas.

The blank page gives us the right to dream.