I'm still trying to figure what makes me me, all I know is I'm a hopeless romantic who hasn't got a clue to what makes a girl tick. So as far as that goes, I shall constantly fail pit after pit into love. Call me silly, call me an idiot. But that's just who I am.
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”