All the things I've thought about love are true. It's beautiful and terrible and it doesn't make things perfect. It ends things, and it brings beginnings. This is mine.

Things end. People leave. And you know what? Life goes on. Besides, if bad things didn't happen, how would you be able to feel the good ones?

The world will knock you down plenty. You don't need to be doing it to yourself.

The truth is, I feel beyond sad. I feel empty. Numb.

Why do people think being with someone is the answer to everything?

Things change. Stuff happens. Life goes on.

I do not fall. I fell so hard so long ago there is nothing left for me to land on. I just keep falling and falling and falling.

Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.

I want to care, but I don’t. I look at you and all I feel is tired.

I don't eat bread.' Is she pouting? It's hard to tell. She's had a lot of chemicals injected into her face.

I love books. I like that the moment you open one and sink into it you can escape from the world, into a story that's way more interesting that yours will ever be.

The more you focus on the positive and the beauty around you, the more positive and peaceful your life will be.

The best way to overcome your weaknesses is to turn them into strengths.

Having more data does not always give you the power to make better decisions.

I stared at my lap. I wished I were confident, I wished I were brave. I wished he didn’t scare me. But the more he spoke the less I wanted to look away, and the more I did.

Life is only logical, and to think it's a gift is depressing.

The secret is to throw yourself into the water of life again and again, not to hang back, no reservations, risk everything, but above all strike out boldly with all you have.

Its obvious, but perhaps worth saying, that happiness has virtually nothing to do with the state of your intellect.

Nature has a way of deadening us to traumatic events, until we're ready to deal with it. And once you do, it's a volcanic reaction.

There are two classes of poets - the poets by education and practice, these we respect; and poets by nature, these we love.

A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.