Francesca Lia Block Quotes

Morning. Strawberry sky dusted with white winter powder sugar sun. And nobody to munch on it with

Find the goddess inside yourself instead of looking for the god in someone else.

Every girl is a goddess.

No matter how bad things get, you can always see the beauty in them. The worse things get, the more you have to make yourself see the magic in order to survive.

When you live in a city with no stars to wish on, you have to wish on each other.

If you were a mermaid, you said, If you were a mermaid, I was the sea.

Sometimes a wild horse needs to feel that his rider is just a little bit wilder.

Magic can be found in stolen moments.

The girl in the mirror wasn't who I wanted to be and her life wasn't the one I wanted to have.

In Mexico people wear hummingbird amulets around their necks to show they are searching for love. Here people pretend that they aren’t. Searching.

Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful.

Our eyelashes brushed like they would weave together by themselves, turning us into one wild thing. I say, “I think I missed you before I met you even.

Sometimes I wanted to peel away all of my skin and find a different me underneath.

He said that black sheeps express everyone else's anger and pain. It's not that they have all the anger and pain-they're just the only ones who let it out. Then the other people don't have to.

I wish I wasn’t a girl who needed so much but a little free creature that slept in deserts and ran on clouds and lived on lilies.

You are so intense. Like a storm. It's shocking how intense you are.

I'll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won't be.

Each of us has a family tree full of stories inside of us, Dirk thought. Each of us has a story blossoming out of us.

You're meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.

I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside.

It seems impossible that you can love one person so much, no matter what happens, no matter what they do.

I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.

Love is a dangerous angel.

I dreamed you were standing in this dark place and you touched these dead flowers and they lit up like they were electric or something. Electric lilies. Lighting up the Valley.

Choose to believe in your own myth your own glamour your own spell a young woman who does this (even if she is just pretending) has everything.

In order to have bliss you have to be able to accept all the parts of the other, all the wildness and the darkness. You have to be able to hold on.

I believe we recover from loss by facing the loss, grieving, going deep inside ourselves (hopefully with a guide) and re-emerging to live and love again.

Flowers are reincarnation. They come out of the earth of our ashes. Nothing else looks so soul-like.

He said, You're so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.

Just like any woman,...we weave our stories out of our bodies. Some of us through our children, or our art; some do it just by living. It's all the same.

She was no longer a slow dreamer watching the flowers grow. She was a warrior now. Warriors need something to fight for though, beside their lives, because otherwise their lives will not be worth it.

After his kisses and hugs it feels like without them my body will fall apart into pieces.

I think that poetry is perfect for women raising children, with just bits of time and such need to connect to other women out of the isolation of motherhood.

Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.

You make me feel like I have wings when you touch me.

Think of your pain like a bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.

What shall we do, all of us? All of us oassionate girls who fear crushing the boys we love with our mouths like caverns of teeth, our mushrooming brains, our watermelon hearts?

Maybe he was real. Maybe I'd made him up. Either way, he didn't think I needed him anymore. Maybe he was right.

This was not a fearie tale. This was not the movies. This was life. It hurt more. It was excruciating. It was excruciatingly beautiful.

War is being reminded that you are completely at the mercy of death at every moment, without the illusion that you are not. Without the distractions that make life worth living.

I stand here waiting. To disappear or sing.

It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.

You have to make your own family, your own life.

Welcome Beauty, banish fear.

If death is your lover, you don't got to be afraid ever that he will ever leave you

It's important to tell your story. It's important to listen.

Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It's a magpie Christmas market.

You can't doubt so much, Psyche

But death is stronger than that and when you cover your eyes you are the one who can't see the dark. The dark still sees you.

If Death is your father, you don't ever have to worry about what part of his body the disease will strike next. If Death is your lover, you don't have to be afraid that he will ever leave you.