For some people, life is the process of knocking through walls to get out. For others, it is the building of walls.
I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment – we are all defined by something we can’t change.
I think we keep these moments of rejection and acceptance very close. I think we carry them always, like cracked shells from which a part of us once hatched.
I read books because I love them, not because I think I should read them.
Children are the closest we have to wisdom and they become adults the moment that final drop of everything mysterious is strained from them.
Royal Young’s writing is that rare blend of irony and beauty.
Love between strangers takes only a few seconds and can last a whole life.
It’s the greatest legacy you could ever leave your children or your loved ones: the history of how you felt.
Music helps us understand where we have come from but, more importantly, what has happened to us.
The most significant conversations of our lives occur in silence.
To love again, you must not discard what has happened to you, but take from it the strength you’ll need to carry on.
When small drops began to fall and darken the world in penny-shaped circles, no one around him scurried for cover. For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.
Reading reassures us that no matter how alone we might feel, there are many others – spread as wide as history itself – who have felt the same way we have, who have occupied the rooms we find ourselves locked in at various points of our lives.
Perhaps we were each allotted only a certain amount of love – enough for only an initial meeting – a serendipitous clumsiness. When it leaves to find others, the difficulty begins because we are faced with our humanness, our past, our very being.
When somebody leaves this plane – or, if you like, goes into another room – those left behind sometimes try and stop loving – but this is a mistake, because even if you have loved only once in your life, you’re ruined.
You can’t put a price on the rituals of love, because you never know what will happen next. I suppose fear is part of the excitement and we can’t have one without the other.
Every moment is the paradox of now or never.
Dreamers conquered the world long ago.
I wanted to explain that trusting is harder than being trusted.
I don’t see the point of truth anymore, it causes just as much heartbreak as lying.