Love is insanity, apparently.

Even when everything hurts, even when other cities are exploding and people we love are disappearing, there’s still space for sweet things.

I want to know if we are the same, in the moments when we’re stripped bare.

We have to give up so many things when the people we love die. So we hang on to other familiar things.

I can’t quite figure out the difference between loving someone and loving things about them.

Love is something you have or don’t have. Love is like a fever.

It sounds like love just sort of happens, whether you want it to or not, whether you’re married or not.

Sometimes words I think are small come out big.

On our own, we’d look totally normal. Together, we’re something else. Together, we’re special.

We don’t smile, but we something. We something. It hurts, the way a deep connection to someone who isn’t yours sometimes does.

We are LornaCruzCharlotteDelilahIsla and we aren’t afraid of love, even if we’re supposed to be.

What a man need is simply and solely independence volition, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead.

I want two things from you, first answer "Why" questions and second wait before you made your conclusion.

Now, if the passions had no hold on us, a week and a hundred years would amount to the same.

Many shots are spoiled at the last instant by efforts to add a few more yards.

... law is a substitute for love.

A single party is ruling in Hungary, but democracy and the freedom of speech are still in place.

You're entitled to your own opinions, but not your own facts.

To feel estranged from language is to lose your own body.

My personal life is lived as 'me,' but my professional life is lived as other people. In other words, when I go to the office, I lie down, dream, and become 'someone else.' That's my job.

There is hardly an absurdity of the past that cannot be found flourishing somewhere in the present.