equinox

There are two kinds of love…in the safe kind you look for someone who’s exactly like you. It’s what most folks settle for. But then there’s the other kind of love. Everyone’s born with a ragged edge, and some folks crave that piece that’s a perfect fit. You’ll search for it forever, if you have to. And if you’re lucky enough to find it, it looks so right, you start to tear at your own seams, thinking, maybe I could look just as perfect. But then, of course, when you try to get close to their other half, you don’t fit anymore. That kind of love…you come out of it a different person than you were when you started.

Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It’s already tomorrow in Australia.

But who can distinguish between falling in love and imagining falling in love? Even genuinely falling in love is an act of the imagination.

Dreams are always crushing when they don’t come true. But it’s the simple dreams that are often the most painful because they seem so personal, so reasonable, so attainable. You’re always close enough to touch, but never quite close enough to hold and it’s enough to break your heart.

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

Imagination can’t create anything new, can it? It only recycles bits and pieces from the world and reassembles them into visions. … So when we think we’ve escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives, it’s really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable.