Open your heart. Someone will come. Someone will come for you. But first you must open your heart.
There ain’t no way you can hold onto something that wants to go, you understand? You can only love what you got while you got it.
There is nothing sweeter in this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name.
Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.
You can’t always judge people by the things they done. You got to judge them by what they are doing now.
Love, as we have already discussed, is a powerful, wonderful, ridiculous thing, capable of moving mountains. And spools of thread.
This is the danger of loving: No matter how powerful you are, no matter how many kingdoms you rule, you cannot stop those you love from dying.
If you have no intention of loving or being loved, the whole journey is pointless.
The world is dark, and light is precious. Come closer, dear reader. You must trust me. I am telling you a story.
It is important that you say what you mean to say. Time is too short. You must speak the words that matter.
You must be filled with expectancy. You must be awash in hope. You must wonder who will love you, whom you will love next.
It is a bad thing to have love and nowhere to put it.
Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark.
Someone will come for you, but first you must open your heart...
There,” she said. She rocked him back and forth. “There, you foolish, beautiful boy who wants to change the world. There, there. And who could keep from loving you? Who could keep from loving a boy so brave and true?
What was it like... to have someone who knew you would always return and who welcomed you with open arms?
There is a lot of love in him, a lot of love in his heart... And he is up there with no one and nothing to love. It is a bad thing to have love and no where to put it.
That was the thing about tragedy. It was just sitting there, keeping you company, waiting. And you had absolutely no idea.
But in truth,′ said Bull, ’we are going nowhere. That my friend, is the irony of our constant movement.