the smell of rain and wet trees — the smell of the last days of November.

Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (trans. Philip Ó Ceallaigh)

Don’t lose a woman that has seen your flaws and still loves you.

I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment—we are all defined by something we can’t change.

I’d much rather have one great person to talk to every night than have several pointless conversations with temporary people.

It's nice when someone remembers small details about you.

And when you told me what your favorite book was, I bought it and read it over and over... trying to find pieces of you in it.

And if you call me at 4 am, too sad to even say hello, I will listen to your silence until you fall asleep.

You know you are on the right track when you become uninterested in looking back.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

You cannot make everyone think and feel as deeply as you do. This is your tragedy … because you understand them, and they do not understand you.

I wonder if someone has ever thought of me so much at night that they couldn’t sleep.

واختر لنفسك شخصاً إذا قست عليك الأيام يكن لك فيه عشمٌ لا يخيب.

Some changes happen deep down inside of you. And the truth is, only you know about them. Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Sometimes we can’t find the thing that will make us happy, because we can’t let go of the thing that was supposed to.