On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio.

And the sun rose from her tender heart.

It's strange talking about yourself.
You think you know yourself, but you don't.

If my life were a red rose petal,
I would have pinned it to your hair.

We went too far in our thinking and forgot that destinies are written.

Your eyes, a war I do not mind dying in.

When you light a candle, you also cast a shadow.

In the darkest times, that's where you'll find your greatest strength.

Passion creates, addiction consumes.

I love that the phrase is "in love" like love is a place. Like somewhere you could be.

In the era of calamities, you're a moment of peace.

Her beauty was a longing that sparked verses.
Her eyes concealed a sorrow bound to someone's love.

All your rage is to conceal a fragile heart.

Today once again on the thread of my sorrows, I have strung the flowers of your memory.

Nobody loves the warrior until the enemy is at the gates.

Those lacking imagination take refuge in reality.

It was September. in the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.

She is delightfully chaotic; a beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure.

Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.

And something else happens and everything else is gone.

Sometimes everything cries in you, except your eyes.