He wanted to be a universal man . . . and I suppose that isn't possible now. He belongs in fifteenth-century Italy. This age doesn't suit him.
How I miss wandering around with old souls, Aimlessly moving from one place to anotherHow I miss all our dreams and our goalsAnd how we've lost ourselves to find each otherSeems like a playful game of...
She's an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.
I'm not young. I've never had any youth.
I am a lover of words and tragically beautiful things, poor timing and longing, and all things with soul, and I wonder if that means I am entirely broken, or if those are the things that have been kee...
Old soul. I laughed. You're Thirty.It's not the years, it's the experience, he paused.
I'm not reinventing myself. I'm finding myself. There's a difference!
We all have a god and a poet inside us. The poet, the human; the god, the divine.It is by the grace of our god that we can find the divine inspiration with which to wax poetic about our human experien...