Kiss me and you will see how important I am.

I am gone quite mad with the knowledge of accepting the overwhelming number of things I can never know, places I can never go, and people I can never be.

How we need another soul to cling to.

Your room is not your prison. You are.

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.

We should meet in another life, we should meet in air, me and you.

I love my rejection slips. They show me I try.

Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little?

Hour by hour, day by day, life becomes possible.

It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.

I dream too much, work too little.

I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still

I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.

O love, how did you get here?

That is salvation. To give of love inside. To keep love of life, no matter what, and give to others. Generously.

I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.

I am what I feel and think and do.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness