It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.

Everything I dream is something simple and plain and everyday. That’s how I know they are dreams. Because the simple and plain and everyday things are the ones that we can never have

Once you want something, everything changes. Now I want everything. More and more and more.

I wonder if I will ever have the strength to hold onto something. Or if I will always be someone who destroys.

I realize now how much courage it takes to choose the life you want, whatever that might be.

Now that I've found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night?

Is falling in love with someone's story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?