Lang Leav Quotes

Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.

I have happened in so many places, to so many people - the essence of me lives on in these nuances, these moments.

I remember our sorrows in shades,
like the gray of the shadows,
which loomed that day,
and the white in his lie
when he promised to stay.

In a sea of strangers,
you've longed to know me.
Your life spent sailing
to my shores.

Some pieces will sing to your present, others may echo of your past, and the rest could whisper of your future.

The things that seem
to matter less,
are the ones
we put on show.

There's a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. A tender sacrifice.

There are things I miss that I shouldn't, and things I don't that I should. Sometimes we want what we couldn't, sometimes we love what we could.

The sad thing is," she said, "the moment you start to miss someone, it means they're already gone.

One day you will be nostalgic for today.

When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch. For

We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock in unison.

You can create something that is pure genius, but you have to get your timing right.

Before the tears that tore us, when our history was before us.

The Fear of Losing You Without meaning to, he's disarmed me, with kisses that soothe and alarm me. In arms that terrify and calm me.

It was the year you learned that shooting stars were either a blessing or a curse, depending on what you wanted to believe.

To never do the things I've done that once had led to my undoing.

Because sooner or later, all kinds of love - crazy love, wild love- fade into the same thing. The love becomes old and predictable -safe.

To be unafraid of all the things I used to fear, before I knew I shouldn't fear them.

I'm a stranger in my own life.

Maybe we slip in and out of alternate worlds through our minds and our imaginations, picking up scar tissue from other dimensions.

Your first love isn't the first person you give your heart to- it's the first one who beaks it.

You cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.

You see," she said, "your first love isn't the first person you give your heart to - it's the first one who breaks it.

We never made it, did we?

I've grown quiet now. You won't hear me talk about you anymore. It doesn't hurt like it used to. I suppose that is something to be thankful for.

The End
"I don't know what to say," he said.
"It's okay," she replied, "I know what we are - and I know what we're not.

I think the mysterious pull that draws you to another person is identical to the one that moves our eyes upward to the stars.

She can feel it down to her very core - this is her time. She will not only climb mountains - she will move them too.

In cemeteries of memories, our love will lie in caskets.

When was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you've been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.

I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don't get the thing you want the most.

When you lose a person, a whole universe goes along with them.

There are people I will never know and their lives will still ensue; those that could have loved me so and I'll never wonder who.

My name is no longer a name, it is a call.

You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.

Had I known, I would not have left you,
alone beneath those stars,
on the night when I last saw you,
not knowing it was the last.

First love," said Ida with a sigh. "That's the one that kills you.

Of lips that I am yet to kiss,
and eyes
not met my own.

In time she will learn,
not to
miss them.

The greatest heartache comes from loving another soul, they said, beyond reason, beyond doubt, with no hope of salvation.

You were none, and now you're all; your worth will rise, the more I fall.

I was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.

It was words that I fell for. In the end, it was words that broke my heart.

He deftly dealt his swiftest blow
I fell further than, I was meant to go.

Without a doubt,
I must read,
all the books
I've read about.
See the artworks
hung on hooks,
that I have only,
seen in books.

You were you,
and I was I;
we were two
before our time.
I was yours
before I knew,
and you have always
been mine too.

When words run dry,
he does not try,
nor do I.
We are on par.
He just is,
I just am
and we just are

And swear each night to let her go, then love more by dawn.

She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.

You forsake all that you hold dear,
for a dream that is not your own;
you would rather live a lie
than live your life alone

Some days I feel like my soul is being pulled in one direction and my heart in another.

Strange how it mattered so much, when now it matters so little.

People who are prone to sadness are more likely to pick up a pen.

There is a certain quality to words that when strung in a certain way
has an almost hypnotic effect.

Closure Like time suspended, a wound unmended - you and I. We had no ending, no said good-bye. For all my life, I'll wonder why.

I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them.

And though you know it's wrongful,
there is someone else you long for.

A marker drawn to show our end, is etched into its line.
The briefest moment shared with you - the longest on my mind.

Beauty's Curse
Her bow is drawn to worlds of dark,
where arrows spring and miss their mark
she'll turn their heads but not their hearts.

Have you ever loved a rose, and bled against her thorns; and swear each night to let her go, then love her more by dawn.

You won't hear from me again after today, and I don't want you to worry. I'll be okay. Because I have to be.

Now this is where,
this is where,
this is where we've ended.

What is she like?
I was told
she is a
melancholy soul.

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.
For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.

Can I ask you something?
Anything.
Why is it every time we say goodnight, it feels like goodbye?

The scatterbrain,
is a little like,
the patter of rain.
Neither here,
nor there,
but everywhere.

But it was now time for her to go away - to find someone who could show her what happiness was.

In her eyes, the sadness sings - of one who was destined, for better things.

The words I heard from you today, are said when there's nothing left to say. What I would give to make you stay, I would give it all away.

I loved you more than loved allowed

Isn't it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours.

To love is a dare,
when hope and despair,
are gates upon it hinges.

Great name, though. I'd fuck that name.

He makes me turn,
he makes me toss;
his words mean mine
are at a loss.

Everyone has one - an inventory of lost things waiting to be found. Yearning to be acknowledged for the worth they once held in your life.

Where are you?" She asked. "I have been searching all my life." "Stop looking for me," Love replied, "and I will find you.

I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.

And the weather was so damn sick of being predictable; I heard it began snowing in the Sahara and I wanted to tell you that I've changed.

We will remain unwritten through history, no X will mark us on the map; but in books of prose and poetry, you loved me once, in a paragraph.

The second I tried to tell myself I wasn't in love was the moment I realized I was.

There is one who you belong to, whose love
there is no song for.

I love you, I do -
you have my word.
You have all my words.

I thought you were a keeper,
I wish I could
have kept you.

Losing You
I used to think I couldn't go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

Everything that happened here
happened long ago.

You were the one, I wanted most to stay.
But time could not be kept at bay.
The more it goes, the more it's gone, the more it takes away.

Why do you write? he asked. So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply. Because you won't take it from me.

If a boy ever says, you remind me of someone
don't fall in love with him. You will never be anything more than second best.

I hope someday you will find me and remember what I once meant to you.

Remember, your words are your power. Never forget your words

I saw love in your smile and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I was already home.

Anything and everything, the two almost the same
everything says, have it all; anything, one to claim.

Yes, I think it is entirely possible to fall in love with someone you've never met. Physicality is an expression of intimacy- not an indication of it.

I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer.

His Kiss:
He has me at his every whim;
everything starts with him.
To all the boys I used to kiss
everything stops with his.

If you have to be with someone at all, then be with someone who makes you feel like you are still in control.

Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to be with one another.

And I sighed and wept for what could not be
and for all that could have been.

It wasn't my choice to love you but it was mine to leave