Promises are lies wrapped in pretty ribbons -Cinnamon.
What is normal? Normal is only ordinary; mediocre. Life belongs to the rare, exceptional individual who dares to be different.
Love doesn’t always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will.
I wish the night would end, I wish the day’d begin, I wish it would rain or snow, or the wind would blow, or the grass would grow, I wish I had yesterday, I wish there were games to play...
You can trust a few some of the time, and most none of the time. Feel lucky if you have even one to trust all of the time.
It was the eyes. The secret of love was in the eyes. The way one person looked at another, the way eyes communicated and spoke when the lips never moved.
Only someone who had cried a great deal understands why someone else wants to stop the tears.
At the end of the rainbow waited the pot of gold. But rainbows were made of faint and fragile gossamer-and gold weighed a ton-and since the world began, gold was the reason to do most anything.
There is no hate such as that born out of love betrayed- and my brain screamed out for revenge.
The weight of the lie was so great it almost didn’t escape my lips and barely made it to her ears.
All you need do is say good-bye to yesterday’s loves, and hello to the new. Look around and see who needs you most and you won’t go wrong. Forget who needed you yesterday.
We are perfect children. Mentally, physically, emotionally, we are wholesome, and godly in every way possible. We have as much right to live, love, and enjoy life as any other children on this earth.
No habiamos dicho ya un millon de oraciones, siempre en espera de una liberacion que no llegaba nunca? Y si las lagrimas no servian de nada y las oraciones no las oia nadie, como ibamos a llegar hasta Dios para obligarle a que hiciera algo?
I don’t explain love, Bart. I don’t think anyone can. It grows from day to day from having contact with that other person who understands your needs, and you understand theirs. It starts with a faltering flutter that touches your heart and makes you vulnerable to everything beautiful.
All pain seemed to come with lots of blood, and lots of mental anguish, too. I already knew about that. Maybe that was the worst kind of pain, because nobody knew about it but you.