“For the most important type of love is love for oneself and only you can hear all of your beautiful verses that never got to see the light of the day.”

Finding inner peace is a lost art for with every breath and sigh new stimuli comes and leaves us in a pool of racing thoughts and worries.

I want you here beside me, to make me feel like the only pearl you’d be looking for in the ocean.

Should you find the most convenient way of breathing, it will not make you feel more alive.

On the verge of what is there to see, a beautiful landscape of the sea washing away what we’re made off, looking back we drown we fall.

Do you recognize your voice, the one that’s coming from your own mouth, when words are forming on your tongue?

Curled up in a ball slowly shutting down as my body is being devoured by those ugly, fearsome monsters that have lived in my guts ever since I could remember.

So grand yet so small, so important yet so irrelevant, so beautiful yet so shallow, must thee live in illusion or does real life leave too much of a confusion?

Hatred conquers the sea in which is growing thee them tiny pearls struggling a little trying to solve the final riddle.

And when I was looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that beneath these scars lies a woman, that is good that is kind, that I myself aspired to be.

Carrying the weight of my mistakes I burst into flames that hurt my skin.

A sense of calmness in this chaotic world somehow soothes me.

Would you want to breathe if you were to ask for oxygen? Would you want to drink if you were to beg for a glass of water? would you want to eat if you were to pray for a plate of food? Well, I wouldn’t.

I can truly see myself in that light, the green iris of my eye like a jungle, full of life. And when snow covers the green, and my skin looses its color I crave that wilderness in my eye.

I believed less is what I needed, what I tried to achieve; I thought less is more, better, the minimalistic beauty of life.

Hatred conquers the sea in which is growing thee them tiny pearls struggling a little trying to solve the final riddle.

The beautiful repose of the night its silence and mystery contrasts the commotion of my soul.

I believed less is what I needed, what I tried to achieve; I thought less is more, better, the minimalistic beauty of life.

In the word question, there is a beautiful word – quest. I love that word.

No human being is illegal. That is a contradiction in terms. Human beings can be beautiful or more beautiful, they can be fat or skinny, they can be right or wrong, but illegal? How can a human being be illegal?

The beautiful repose of the night its silence and mystery contrasts the commotion of my soul.

To feel is the most beautiful thing in life. It gives us love, as much as pain but only if we accept the pain, we can love.

I look on the opposite sex with something like the admiration with which I regard the starry sky on a frosty December night. I admire the beauty of the Creator’s workmanship, I am charmed with the wild but graceful eccentricity of the motions, and then I wish both of them goodnight.

It is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best regulated administration of slavery.

I’m so tired of waiting, aren’t you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind?