wild

There will alwaysa glimmer in thosewho have been through the dark.

True artcomes from flying with the madnessso close you burn your eyelashes.

Sometimes I want a quiet lifeother timesI want to go a little bit fucking Gatsby.

She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.

I will follow you, my love, to the edge of all our days,to our very last tomorrows.

Brushing a girl__ hair behind her earonce a daywill solve more problemsthan all thosetherapists and drugs.

One day I__l paint the perfect sunset-- if I can only find the words.

You and I will be lost and found a thousand times along this cobbled road of us.

The closest natural area to you is the wild, naturally intelligent biological community within you.

Don't worry_ you see, to some you are magic.

What a strange world. We trade our days for things.

I wonder how many women are held up in their bed waiting to be sung to, served wine to, read poetry to, kissed slowly with.

Drugs to mehave always beena pretty girl with a sly smilebeckoning mewith a finger down the dark path of a fork in the road.

She found herselfover a long and treacherous roadand the more treacherous the road became,the more of herselfshe found.

Your Writing Teacher __WritingChiefIf u don't get ur protagonist dirty, ur readers will get bored. Readers are wild, cliff-jumping, mud-wrestling savages. Become their leader. (anonymous on Twitter)

Her life was like a burst of wild, flowing Chinese calligraphy, written under the influence of alcohol.

do you dare to step in-to the vulnerable black, stripped to the soul with human blindness _ when the full and weeping moon steps from the shade of a tumult of mountains _ when, in the fragrant dim, day's tree stump transformsinto some nether-worldly other _ when time's skin is thin and you arebared _ when there is nothing between you and the Wildest Onewhose name is your own?

I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.