A flower blossoms for its own joy. |
I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best. |
Hearts are made to be broken. |
To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. |
You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear. |
The very essence of romance is uncertainty. |
The truth is rarely pure and never simple. |
Be yourself; everyone else is already taken. |
The curves of your lips rewrite history. |
If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all. |