"Libba Bray"の名言

I love you for who you are, not who the world thinks you should be.

But we can't go back. We can only go forward.

I run after her, not really giving chase. I’m running because I can, because I must. Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.

You can never know about about your own destiny: are the people you meet there to play a part on your oun destiny, or do you exist just to play a role in theirs?

I know because I read...Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.

To those who will see, the world waits.

I change the world, the world changes me.

I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.

My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.

Did God ever cry over his lost angel, I wonder?

Maybe there’s a heaven, like they say, a place where everything we’ve ever done is noted and recorded, weighed on big karma scales. Maybe not. Maybe this whole thing is just a giant experiment run by aliens who find out human hijinks amusing. Or maybe we’re an abandoned project started by a deity who checked out a long time ago, but we’re still hard-wired to believe, to try to make meaning out of the seemingly random. Maybe we’re all part of the same unconscious stew, dreaming the same dreams, hoping the same hopes, needing the same connection, trying to find it, missing, trying again—each of us playing our parts in the other’s plotlines, just one big ball of human yarn tangled up together. Maybe this is it.

One could argue that it's romantic to die for love. Of course, then you're dead and unable to take that honeymoon trip to the Alps with all the other fashionable young couples, which is a shame.

I've heard it said that God is in the details. It's the same with the truth. Leave out the details, the crucial heart, and you can damn someone with the bare bones of it.

They have money and position and Ann has none.It's amazing how often you can be right as long as you have those two things working in your favor.

There is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.

Peace is not happenstance. It is a living fire that must be fed constantly. It must be tended with vigilance, else it dies out.

. . . chasing after words like trying to grab the tails of comets.

Who but the mad would choose to keep on living? In the end, aren't we all just a little crazy?

I've never been in love. I will die without knowing what it feels like to need to see one person's face when you go to sleep at night, to crave seeing it when you wake up. I wish I knew.

I think about dying every day, because I can't stop thinking about living.