We are always doing something to cover up our basic existential anxiety. Some people live that way until the day they die.
History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.
Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, - but it returneth!
When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.
The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear.
For some reason, I have a very strange conception of time. I am constantly hovering at some overview, more macro.
I enjoy reading blogs, but am not interested in having my spurious thoughts out there.
He kissed me, and I pulled my personal psycho into bed with me.
I love what I do. I was given the most incredible gift that can be given to anyone. I could never imagine a world without music, and I feel grateful that I've been given the ability to share that.