I don’t know. She was a sweet girl. As sweet as they come. I don’t know why I didn’t love her. It’s something you can’t really control.
Something did happen to me somewhere that robbed me of confidence and courage and left me with a fear of discovery and change and a positive dread of everything unknown that may occur.
He took his pain and turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that's what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you.
As much as I don’t want it to be true, the reasons I don’t do something define me as a person even more so, perhaps, than the reasons I do something.
It’s true—there are only, like, two songs about rainbows, including that one. He should be asking why there are so few songs about rainbows.
Because I think that by beauty, you don't just mean something that's pretty. You mean something that makes us human.
I feel like this is a horror story. That's how scared I am right now. "Don't be scared." "That doesn't help.
Family isn’t something that’s supposed to be static, or set. People marry in, divorce out. They’re born, they die. It’s always evolving, turning into something else.
Her true hope was that something would happen in the course of her time abroad that would mean she need never take the place. What that 'something' was she had no idea.
There's a lot of talk these days about giving children self-esteem. It's not something you can give; it's something they have to build.
Forgiveness is not something you do for someone else; it's something you do for yourself. To forgive is not to condone, it is to refuse to continue feeling bad about an injury.
Something has gone amiss with the world, he found himself thinking. Something has changed in the marrow, and I’m at a loss to make sense of it.
Something I'm not ready to name works itself under the grip of Charlies death and loosens it, and keeps the nightmare at bay when I fall back asleep.
A child who is born is something to seek out, something to search for, a star, a northern light, a column of energy in the universe. And a child who dies-that's an abomination.
I feel like a crumpled up piece of paper that has something really important written on it. But no one will ever know what that is because all they see is something that's been discarded.
Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
Eventually, you must stop running to something or from something and embrace where you are. Otherwise you’ll never embrace anything.
You're something, alright." I laughed into his bare chest, my eyes closing. "I'm your something..." His voice trailed off into a wisper as I drifted off.
Dreams don’t get done until they are due.
Gavin's Law: Live to start. Start to live.
We're cool," I say calmly, although I feel something else. I feel... sad. Like I've lost something I never quite had.
