Inspirational quotes by Lang Leav.
It happens like this. "One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else--closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel--one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them--even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering--the reason for their presence will become clear in due time."Though here is a word of warning--you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.-------------------------------------------------It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me. That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.
You were you,and I was I;we were twobefore our time.I was yoursbefore I knew,and you have always been mine too.
Before I fellin love with words,with setting skies and singing birds—it was you I fellin love with first.
Love is a game of tic-tac-toe,constantly waitingfor the next x or o.
Like time suspended, a wound unmended-- you and I. We had no ending, no said goodbye; For all my life, I'll wonder why.
There is safety in numbness– there is solace in sleep.
I loved you once and now I must spend my whole life explaining why.
Saving YouThe darkness takes him over, the sickness pulls him in; his eyes—a blown out candle, I wish to go with him.Sometimes I see a flicker— a light that shone from them; I hold him to me tightly, before he's gone again.
I don't think all writers are sad, she said.I think it's the other way around—all sad people write.
She lends her pen,to thoughts of him,that flow from it,in her solitary.For she is his poet,And he is her poetry.
Xs and OsLove is a gameof tic-tac-toe,constantly waiting,for the next x or o.
Stardust If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I. When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all we carry from one life to the next.
First love," said Ida with a sigh. "That's the one that kills you.
Because sooner or later, all kinds of love - crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.
Audrey, if you had the choice, would you rather be his muse or be in his arms?" "I want to be both. I know it's the exception rather than the rule, but I can't hepl what I want.
TimeYou were the oneI wanted mostto stay.But time could notbe kept at bay.The more it goes,the more it's gone—the more it takes away.
Without a doubt,I must read,all the booksI've read about.See the artworkshung on hooks,that I have only,seen in books.
There was a feeling of inevitability when I met you. The sense that we would be together; that there would be a moment when you would look at me in a certain way, and we could cross the threshold from friendship into something so much more.We spoke once about lovers who kept finding each other, no matter how many times the world came between them. And I think I had to break your heart, and you had to break mine. How else could we know the worth of what we were given?I think you were always meant to know me a little better than anyone else. And our lives were fated to converge like some cosmic dance. I know there is terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of celestial light, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.
That night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.
Do you know what it is like,to lie in bed awake;with thoughts to hauntyou every night,of all your past mistakes.Knowing sleep will set it right - if you were not to wake.
I can't believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It's like I've been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.
It’s amazing what people create using their pain. Work that is touched by melancholy has its own unique beauty. Even the word ‘melancholy’ is pretty, the way it rolls on your tongue. I think sadness adds something to literature that is unique. It’s an ingredient like . . .” I thought for a moment. “Like salt. Salt has that power to completely transform a dish. I think sadness has that same transformative effect in literature.
We spoke on the phone for the first time that morning. My back against the chest of drawers, my knees tucked under my
Death, like fiction, is brutal in its symmetry. Take this story and strip it down -all the way back- until you are left with two points. Two dots on a vast, blank canvas, separeted by a sea of white. Here, we have come to the first point, where the batj is drawn and the hand is reachinh for the razor blade. I will meet you at the next, by the axle of a screaming wheel, the revolution of a clock, the closing of an orbit.
One day you will be nostalgic for today.
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