If you're frightened of the countless number of books in the library, you'll never write anything, until you close your eyes and hold the pen.

When someone comes around at that dreary moment, when all hope was lost, and thorns emerged. And that fellow, walks on that thorn just to cross to your side, to bear the pains for your sake, to bleed, to self-destroy himself, just to protect you. He places you above his priorities, and doesn't give a damn whatsoever taunt he receives, his foremost desire is to make sure you are save, feel loved and cared for, and that's the true definition of love.

You might be a good poet if you were on the moon while writing in your room.