I run after her, not really giving chase. I’m running because I can, because I must.
Because I want to see how far I can go before I have to stop.
Who but the mad would choose to keep on living? In the end, aren’t we all just a little crazy?
One could argue that it’s romantic to die for love. Of course, then you’re dead and unable to take that honeymoon trip to the Alps with all the other fashionable young couples, which is a shame.
I’ve never been in love. I will die without knowing what it feels like to need to see one person’s face when you go to sleep at night, to crave seeing it when you wake up. I wish I knew.
I know because I read…Your mind is not a cage. It’s a garden. And it requires cultivating.
I think about dying every day, because I can’t stop thinking about living.