Art takes time—Monet grew his gardensbefore he painted them.
That was her magic— she could still see the sunseteven on those darkest days.
We humans are so tortured by not properly guessing what will make us happy.
I will follow you, my love, to the edge of all our days,to our very last tomorrows.
Our songslive longer thanour kingdoms.
From the moment I saw her I knew this onewas worththebroken heart.
Depression is being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.
She was afraid of heightsbut she was much more afraid of never flying.
Brushing a girl’s hair behind her earonce a daywill solve more problemsthan all thosetherapists and drugs.
We are made of all those who have built and broken us.
I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.
I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk.
