Life is art.

Everyone you meet always asks if you have a career, are married or own a house; as if life was some kind of grocery list. But nobody ever asks if you are happy.

I don’t feel like I need to tell any lies. You get to an age where you get tired of hiding behind whatever people think is correct. You just say what you have to say, and if they don’t like it, it’s OK.

I have a problem admitting when I’m hurting. I’m always trying to stay happy and content that when I fail in doing that, I feel like I lost, like I made a mistake. And let me tell you something, there wouldn’t be a rainbow without the rain.

It was autumn, the springtime of death.

Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.

I am a series of small victories and large defeats and I am as amazed as any other that I have gotten from there to here.

You’re my favorite chapter of my story. You’ve read the dark pages and smiled at the joyful ones. And you found me beautiful; while you kissed my scars away in the dark. For you made realize what love really was; the act of loving someone for who they really are.