But the world, in its present state, is no place for princesses.

What is writing, no matter how lavish the pieces, if it says nothing of the truth, cares little for the heart, and is merely subservient to the pleasure of showing one's brilliance.

Just as teardrops, when they are large and round and compassionate, can leave a long strand washed clean of discord, the summer rain as it washes away the motionless dust can bring to a person's soul something like endless breathing.

But many intelligent people have a sort of bug: they think intelligence is an end in itself. They have one idea in mind: to be intelligent, which is really stupid. And when intelligence takes itself for its own goal, it operates very strangely: the proof that it exists is not to be found in the ingenuity or simplicity of what it produces, but in how obscurely it is expressed.

I'll be searching for those moments of always within never. Beauty, in this world." - Paloma

The real ordeal is not leaving those you love but learning to live without those who don't love you.

As far as I can see, only psychoanalysis can compete with Christians in their love of drawn-out suffering.