Who can really distinguish between the sea and what's reflected in it? Or tell the difference between the falling rain and loneliness?

Unclose your mind. You are not a prisoner. You are a bird in flight, searching the skies for dreams.

I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.

No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself.

Say it before you run out of time. Say it before it's too late. Say what you're feeling. Waiting is a mistake.

I probably still haven’t completely adapted to the world. I don’t know, I feel like this isn’t the real world. The people, the scene: they just don’t seem real to me.

But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn’t it?

The answer is dreams. Dreaming on and on. Entering the world of dreams and never coming out. Living in dreams for the rest of time.

When I first met you, I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time, you are running away for all you’re worth.

When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once.

Free your mind from routine, keep your brain somewhere else

You will never feel truly satisfied by work until you are satisfied by life.

Trolls look for reasons to hate but really what they are mad at is the fact they are not included in anything ever.

No animal has more liberty than the cat, but it buries the mess it makes. The cat is the best anarchist.

Love does not appear with any warning signs. You fall into it as if pushed from a high diving board.

I was such a geek in school.

Gold and silver and sunshine is rising up.

Can we ever break free of the devices and desires of our own hearts? Might not our conscience be telling us what we most want to hear?

I sometimes like the pictures photographers take of me.

And I think my sexuality was heavily repressed by the church, by the, you know, the design of the mortal sins.