Much of what we called "depression" was really dissatisfaction, a result of setting a bar impossibly high or expecting treasures we weren't willing to work for.

All that happens when your dreams come true is a slow, melting realization that it wasn't what you thought.

You have to work at creating your own culture.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all.

Each affects the other, and the other affects the next, and the world is full of stories, but the stories are all one.

Love like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with soaking joy. But sometimes, under the angry heat of life, love dries on the surface and must nourish from below, tending to its roots, keeping itself alive.

We all have same beginning (BIRTH), and we will have same ending (DEATH). So how different can we be?