As soon as he closed the door of his room, The sadness came out of the walland asked"Where were you all the day

I don't believe in your version of love, I have my own

You are an artist, I am an artist, all the people around you and me are artists. Don't try to hide your scars, highlight them with the brush and you'll become an attractive piece of art

While you are laughing madly, There is someone crying inside you

No one else, but the silence of the night cried with me

I have good friends who listen to me for hours, the walls of my room

I am scared of this emptiness, pull me out of my body

Some people love me for being odd, and some want to kill me for the same reason

The silence is becoming more poisonous and I have no one to talk with, not even my own self

You haven't written anything about me yet!" She said in a complaining wayHe replied in a sorrowful tone "I wish you could read my unwritten poems

My grandfather says that's what books are for, " Ashoke said, using the opportunity to open the volume in his hands. "To travel without moving an inch.

There is a road which leads to all roads. The name of that road is adventure!

Justice and equity are twin Guardians that watch over men. From them are revealed such blessed and perspicuous words as are the cause of the well-being of the world and the protection of the nations.

I feel at home most places I go, but my very top of the list are Bali, Italy, and London. Those are like second homes to me.

Throw away sacredness and wisdom and people will be one hundred times happier.

I didn't like anything about myself - my looks, my personality. I was very, very angry.

I preserve things that are significant to me. Only time will determine what is important in the long term. But something can be rediscovered only if someone has collected and preserved it.

Wise married women don't trouble themselves about infidelity in their husbands.

Patients reported that their psychedelic sessions were an invaluable experiential training for dying.