I want friends, not admirers. People who respect me for my character and my deeds, not my flattering smile. The circle around me would be much smaller, but what does that matter, as long as they're sincere?

It must be awful to feel you're not needed.

He clings to his solitude, to his affected indifference and his grown-up ways, but it's just an act, so as never, never to show his real feelings.

As long as this exists, this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?

Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.

I don't dare do anything anymore, 'cause I'm afraid it's not allowed.

I never utter my real feelings about anything. My lighter, superficial side will always be too quick for the deeper side of me, and that's why it always wins.