I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible the world has written its own.

Teaching others, he corrected himself.

They blossomed, they did not talk about blossoming.

Whatever others may say, they say it to deceive and comfort themselves, not help you.

It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.

If you are good, they say you are weak.

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.

We built tall buildings, but we have not become any taller.

You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself.

The same word we love and hate, leaves in different directions, taking different paths.

A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.

Your schedule predicts your miracle or not!

As the gout seems privileged to attack the bodies of the wealthy, so ennui seems to exert a similar prerogative over their minds.

Our histories cling to us. We are shaped by where we come from.

Thus, the technique of metropolitan life is unimaginable without the most punctual integration of all activities and mutual relations into a stable and impersonal time schedule.

Reality was utterly coolheaded and utterly lonely.

Part of the fun of being alive is knowing that you're annoying the hell out of someone else.

I like to think of myself as the girl that no one can get, that no one can keep in their hand.

I was never any good at cricket thought I love it as a, as a sort of mystery.

If a lot of people love each other, the world would be a better place to live.

Some so speak in exaggerations and superlatives that we need to make a large discount from their statements before we can come at their real meaning.