That— we seemed to have decided without saying a word— might go a long way toward spoiling something that was special, and beautiful, by virtue of its strangeness and delicacy.

You made me face something I should have faced a long time ago. I'm grateful. And I should have never asked you to leave. You don't ask someone you to love to walk out of your life

This is my story. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm going somewhere beautiful, and I know I'm on my way... It's been a beautiful adventure. It always will be.

Poetry is one of my guilty pleasures and I want to thank you poets for providing me with beautiful words that I can devour and selfishly indulge in any time I want. ♥-Nina Jean Slack

She's Devine.She's Magic. And she didn't have to wait for anyone to tell her in order for her to believe that about herself. And that's what made her so magically beautiful.

People who worry that nuclear weaponry will one day fall in the hands of the Arabs, fail to realize that the Islamic bomb has been dropped already, it fell the day MUHAMMED (pbuh) was born.

The difference between a poet and a philosopher is that the poet sees logically and describes basically the beauty whereas the philosopher defines the basics and shows the beauty of logics.

Everything she does comes from within, from some dark impulse. I guess that’s what makes her so thrilling to watch. So dangerous. Even perfect at times. But also so damned destructive.

The girl who did my oil change was so sexy that after she was done, I drove nonstop 2500 miles one way, just so I could immediately turn around and drive back with a reason to see her again.

Some believe to be spiritual, is to be always loving and shit... Being spiritual is taking no shit, by believing that your voice deserves to be heard if the deed is not satisfying your soul.

... I'll tell her about Tia. I'll tell her how beautiful she was and how brave. And I'll tell her the most important thing of all: that her mother loved her better than her life.

It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.

Thomas Edison’s last words were ‘It’s very beautiful over there’. I don’t know where there is, but I believe it’s somewhere, and I hope it’s beautiful

The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.

Those beautiful, green-blue eyes that change colour like they're bewitched, and look deep into my soul, making me see my true self. Right now, I don't like what I see.” -Nik Drive