My playing had called to another human being at last. Surely, she could be no other than my own true love. Slowly, I got to my feet. Speak to me, I thought. And as if she'd heard me, the young woman's lips parted and she spoke thus: Have you lost your mind?

How much easier my life would be if I did not love you! I thought. How much less painful, but how much plainer. How much less color there would be in the world.

Love cannot thrive simply by being offered. Sooner or later it must be accepted and reciprocated. It must be seen for what it is and nourished according to its needs, or it will die.

Maybe all young men who love us become knights in shining armor when we love them back.

Really believing in "once upon a time". Believing that it will draw you in, take you with me to a place you've never been before.

I think the worst part is that when you know you dream another person's dream, you can never truly feel at peace. Never truly trust yourself. If you carry around somebody else's nightmare, who knows what else your insides might hide or when it might come out?

What do you know about yourself? What are your stories? The ones you tell yourself, and the ones told by others. All of us begin somewhere. Though I suppose the truth is that we begin more than once; we begin many times. Over and over, we start our own tales, compose our own stories, whether our lives are short or long. Until at last all our beginnings come down to just one end, and the tale of who we are is done.