All that is required of you is an open mind and a little patience.

Dreams are memories. Memories are dreams. But my time with you hasn’t become a dream just yet. Because the sensation of your kisses keep me from sleep. I’m in love, God help me, I’m in love.

Violence can read like poetry. You just have to describe the act as if you’re in love with the way your characters bleed.

Where do they go, these dreams of mine? Do they live? Do they die? Do they fall? Do they fly?

If my life was pulled into the pages of a book, there would be coffee stains and wrinkles along the lines of that narrative. Because all I can wish is that the book of my life would be well read and well loved. Living within words and the sound of writing.

From a lover to a life, the one thing you'll never get back is a moment.

My sister lived in the moment. She said she would love the summer only when it came and warmed her. But I lived and still live in the future. Where it’s warm when it’s cold. Where dreams are not yet reality. Where the sad people are happy. The only problem with living in the future is that everyone has died, including yourself. So your plans are fiction and your predictions are fantasy. Living in the future is pure fantasy. I think that’s why I love it so dearly.

Live this life as gently as you would breathe in the seaside air. Then release all those dreams and wonders to the water. Keep breathing until you’re inches from where you wish to be. Then exhale, remembering that gentle life you grew up from.

If you don’t grow. If you don’t learn. If you don’t change. If you don’t listen. It’s likely you’re wrong.