Not everyone man is a lover, not every love is the love.

My mood depends on the girl whom I love, but she is like a wildest hurricane, drifting shore to shore.

But perhaps she has given me the strength and the madness to write about the things that I once desired so long to put against the world.

Colourful lips are pretty, child but they also speak colourful lies.

I was getting what I had always wanted, him wanting me.

It is a tragedy of the world that no one knows what he doesn't know -- the less a man knows, the more sure it is that he knows everything.