Love is like a match to a wick. It takes that right combination to strike a flame. But once the flame is there, it can either give warmth, die out or burn your world to ashes. Even kill you. It’s how you sustain the flame, feed it, and moderate the amount of energy in balance.

I was the first face you saw when you were born, you were bald as my hair ran black. Now yours the last face I saw before I died, your hair ran black, as I was bald.

When it's all said and done, I hope to die with a smile on my face.

They were shiny, shiny people that were bright like light bulbs, but there I stood out like a sore thumb, my dimness flickering self, and they saw it and removed themselves from me, forming their circle of light. Until the night died, they never noticed when the sun broke open its skull of rays, where I laid by the stop sign.

Live for your country, die to yourself; live for yourself, die to your country.

Love will commit, or love will commit suicide.

I can have patience for anything, but it's waiting for love, that kills me a little each day.

We watch the sky, we watch it alive and we watch it die, looking for signs. We live like wind, with hope in wings that we will get there, never sooner or never later, but at a right time.

The fears we keep alive, will be a recurring haunt until it dies, or we do.