An artist is like a handicaphe needs his art to carry himself.
For love, we live For love, we dieFor love, we dream and get ready to be lied
There is something so innocent about blank pagesThat I can't lie to them about my existence
Perfection is a thousand mistakes behind curtains.
Love finds lazy writers And makes example out of them Nailing them in history
Some art are meant to cut shortstretching them unnecessary makes it dull.
Love is like a magic trickYou know you are getting fooled, but still, you stand in lineAnd pay to see it again and again.
A shadow has no relativeshe is universally orphan
Good luck is abnormalbad luck is common