If I lived a million lives, I would've felt a million feelings and I still would've fallen a million times for you.
It’s funny, for all it took was a broken heart and that alone was enough, enough for her to do everything she ever dreamed of.
I had to learn to live without you and I couldn't make sense of it, because I left so much of me inside of you.
Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself.
To be human is to be broken and broken is its own kind of beautiful.
She was broken from moment to moment, watching her world collide she felt lost inside herself. She fell apart for a passion that flamed beneath her. She waited and died a hundred times, it dripped from her pores. The moment she let go, she soared over the stillness like the star she was born to be.
It was never about the world being too big, it was more like she was too much for the world to handle.
Maybe I hope too much. Maybe I dream too much or maybe I love too much to just give up on you.
Discipline allows magic. To be a writer is to be the very best of assassins. You do not sit down and write every day to force the Muse to show up. You get into the habit of writing every day so that when she shows up, you have the maximum chance of catching her, bashing her on the head, and squeezing every last drop out of that bitch.
It is related that Sakyamuni [the historical Buddha] once dismissed as of small consequence a feat of levitation on the part of a disciple, and cried out in pity for a yogin by the river who had spent twenty years of his human existence learning to walk on water, when the ferryman might have taken him across for a small coin.
Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.
You can't make a fan of everyone. Stay true to your story, characters, music, art or whatever it is you do and fuck everyone else who doesn't like it. Life isn't perfect.