The moment that an artist takes notice of what other people want, and tries to supply the demand, he ceases to be an artist.

Maybe the moon is beautiful only because it is far.

To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.

Originality bores her,
but her mind is lively.

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.

All I need is a sheet of paper and something to write with, and then I can turn the world upside down.

As above so below, as withing so without, as the universe so the soul.

The right person, the wrong time
The right script, the wrong line
The right poem, the wrong rhyme
And a piece of you, that was never mine.

To gain your own voice, forget about having it heard.

I'm leaving you with your worst enemy. Yourself.

And after work, you try to become yourself again.

She wondered how long she would live on in other people's memories.

No amount of money ever bought a second of time.

How do I say I miss you in a way that will make your heart ache as mine does.

From the moment I saw her I knew this one was worth the broken heart.

Through the thorns, to the stars.

So here I am, again
with my hands naked and empty,
and my heart broken, in a way it never deserved,
perhaps my story is sorrow, perhaps my story is love.

The desire to be loved is the last illusion. Give it up and you will be free.

Nothing strange here.
They worship what they fear.

Feelings don't cancel each other out like before. They pile up. Nothing heals anymore.

What's youth? Happy one minute, heartbroken the next.