What cannot be forgotten,
reappears in dreams.

I'm almost never serious, and I'm always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I'm like a collection of paradoxes.

You are the love that knows no end,
and I am the longing that knows no bounds.

The best people are the ones you never meet.

She is a chaos, a bit of poetry, and an art you would fall in love with.

But the heart sometimes blindly seeks suffering.

My regret is that in all books of my poetry, I do not have a verse as beautiful as your eyes.

Creation which cannot express itself becomes madness.

Where words fail, music speaks.

For you have a homeland in my soul.

Fixation or psychosis? devoted to neurosis now.

A lie could be kind to you if you wanted it to be, if you let it.

When we are in love, we are both completely in danger and completely saved.

You drew stars around my scars.

She was a poem and a painting too. Everything she said sounded like a song, every silence was the music too.

Her aura was a warm chaos.

She's the sort of person you'd usually find in books.

The tired sunsets and the tired people.
It takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.

I have buried you in every place I've been, you keep ending up in my shaking hands.

Perhaps it isn't love when I say you are what I love the most - you are the knife I turn inside myself, this is love. This, my dear, is love.

From the moment I saw her,
I knew she was worth the broken heart.