It's quiet now. So quiet that can almost hear other people's dreams.
I'll be your mess, you be mine That was the deal that we had signed
We kiss again. This next kiss is the kind that breaks open the sky. It steals my breath and gives it back. It shows me that every other kiss I've had in my life has been wrong.
The little things that happen. Sometimes they're insignificant; other times, they change everything.
Her eyes flutter up to meet mine. “Are you hungry?”she asks. Am I ever.
It's not that people like sad movies that make us feel like, "Oh, my god, what a bummer." We like emotionally moving experiences, where you feel like a slightly different person and you see the world a little different, after you finish. It lets you see your own life, in a different way, and it actually makes you feel really good. And even though there might be sad content making this happen, the feeling that you're left with is one that is quite good, quite hopeful, clarifying and uplifting.
And something tells me if it matters, maybe it shouldn't be easy.
The line between true self and feigned self is blurred on all sides. Which I think is a rather handy metaphor for falling in love.
Life is a big fat gigantic stinking mess, that's the beauty of it, too.
But what if Shakespeare― and Hamlet― were asking the wrong question? What if the real question is not whether to be, but how to be?
You were so busy trying to be my savior that you left me all alone.
If you stay, I'll do whatever you want. I'll quit the band, go with you to New York. But if you need me to go away, I'll do that, too. I was talking to Liz and she said maybe coming back to your old life would be too painful, that maybe it'd be easier for you to erase us. And that would suck, but I'd do it. I can lose you like that if I don't lose you today. I'll let you go. If you stay.
Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams. I've heard people talk about the sleep of the dead. Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that's what it's like, I wouldn't mind. If that's what dying is like, I wouldn't mind that at all.
What would you do if you had to choose?
As the lightness buoys me, I wonder if maybe she was right. Maybe it's not about looking hot for guys, but about feeling like a place acknowledged you, winked at you, accepted you. It's strange because, of all the people in all the cities, I'd have thought that to Parisians I'd be invisible, but apparently I'm not. Apparently in Paris, not only can I skate, but I practically qualify for the Olympics!
It's a good thing Kerry's dead, because that funeral would've sent him over the edge," Henry said.
Who says I breathe music? Who says I even breathe?
When the sun shines, you let it shine on you
Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that’s what it’s like, I wouldn’t mind.
..all I left with was the magnitude of my mistake, of my missing you. And I have to watch you from this distance, watch you achieve your dreams, live what seemed like this perfect life.
Concert' doesn’t mean standing up like a target in front of thousands of strangers. It means coming together. It means harmony.
I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore.
There are so many things that demand to be said. Where did you go? Do you ever think about me? You've ruined me. Are you okay? But of course, I can't say any of that.
Every fiction has its base in fact.
Leaving people to jumped conclusions is sometimes simpler than explaining a complicated truth
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