The ending of your story all depends on the beginning of ours.

A disastrous flaw in our design is that the heart always defies the brain.

I watched him with wonder like the stars watch the moon, falling in love with every crescent, dark side, and dream.

It's the in-between, the sustenance, not just the gears and bolts that make a human. When you forget to find out how the person was built—the oil, chemistry, and the craft—you miss all the beauty.

He knows her like man knows earth, touching the surface but unaware of her depth.

Her silence should be feared more than her words.

Love alone means nothing unless you have a tortured heart for it to soothe.

He picked up the pieces, keeping his favorite parts away from my hammer.