Best 79 quotes of Lang Leav on MyQuotes

A bird who hurt her wing, now forgotten how to fly. A song she used to sing, but can't remember why. A breath she caught and kept - that left her in a sigh. It hurts her so to love you, but she won't say goodbye.

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

AGE DIFFERENCE What if I told you that one day you will meet a girl who is unlike anyone else you've known. She will know all the right things to say, what makes you laugh, what turns you on, what drives you wild and best of all, you will do for her exactly what she does for you. "When will I meet her?" Well let's put it this way, she doesn't even exist yet.

All I thought and all I felt, was only just because, never was it ever you— until it was all there was.

Death, like fiction, is brutal in its symmetry. Take this story and strip it down -all the way back- until you are left with two points. Two dots on a vast, blank canvas, separeted by a sea of white. Here, we have come to the first point, where the batj is drawn and the hand is reachinh for the razor blade. I will meet you at the next, by the axle of a screaming wheel, the revolution of a clock, the closing of an orbit.

Describing a panic attack to someone who has never experienced one is impossible. However, to one who has, no explanation is needed. You just have to say the word “anxiety” and their eyes would light up with a knowing look.

Don't let them tell you that your pain should be confined to the past, that it bears no relevance to the present.

Do you know what it is like, to lie in bed awake; with thoughts to haunt you every night, of all your past mistakes. Knowing sleep will set it right - if you were not to wake.

Do you love me?" I ask. In your hesitation I found my answer.

Every letter that she types; every keystroke that she strikes- To spell your name again and again, is all she ever wants to write.

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

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.

He only wants you when he can't have you. So why don't you give him what he wants.

Here and now I love you, for the moment you have my heart. But you are entitled to my future, you have no ownership of my past.

Here are the things I want for you - I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence. I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope to never fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it. I want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will. Finally, I want you to know how sorry I am for pushing you away when I had only meant to bring you closer. And if I ever felt like home to you, it was because you were safe with me. - I want you to know that most of all.

Her heart is played like well worn strings In her eyes the sadness sings Of one who was destined of better things

How many people have we known all our lives, and never once loved. How many people have we loved, and never known.

I am already nostalgic for what we have, even with you still here.

I can't believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It's like I've been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.

I don't think all writers are sad, she said. I think it's the other way around— all sad people write.

I don't think the moon ever meant to be a satellite, kept in loving orbit, locked in hopeless inertia, destined to repeat the same pattern over and over - to meet in eclipse with the sun - only when the numbers allowed".

I drew him in my world; I write him in my lines, I want to be his girl, he was never meant as mine. I drew him in my world; He is always on my mind; I draw his every line. It hurts when he's unkind. I drew him in my world; I draw him all the time, but I don't know where to draw the line.

If any person claims to have loved twice in all their life — they have not loved at all.

If I have learned anything this year, it is that I won't ever be ready for what life throws at me. I won't have the right words when it counts; I won't know what to choose when fate itself is staring me down. But now I know I don't always need to have the right answer. I've learned I can go on waiting for something, sustained by hope and nothing more - or I can put it aside and shrug my shoulders. Bravely accept the fact that I can't keep my heart safe any more than I can stop love from taking everything from me. I have learned to stop saying yes when I don't mean it - to live as authentically as I know how. To allow the tips of my fingers to skirt the darkness, as long as I remember to keep my eyes fixed on the light. And as one door opens and another closes, I will move forward with the knowledge that unlike so many others, I have another year ahead of me - another shot at making it all the way around the sun, and a chance to get it right this time around.

I have been quiet lately, I know. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I have too much.

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

I loved you once and now I must spend my whole life explaining why.

I'm a stranger in my own life.

In all our wrongs, I want to write him, in a time where I can find him. Before the tears that tore us. When our history was before us.

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

I remember the first time I saw my favorite painting, how its fragile beauty caught my breath. And I thought if the artist had painted just one brushstroke less, he could have told an entirely different story. If he began with a smear of red instead of blue, it could have been a chapter instead of an era.

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.

It happens like this. "One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else--closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel--one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them--even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering--the reason for their presence will become clear in due time." Though here is a word of warning--you may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself. And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more. ------------------------------------------------- It's so dark right now, I can't see any light around me. That's because the light is coming from you. You can't see it but everyone else can.

It’s amazing what people create using their pain. Work that is touched by melancholy has its own unique beauty. Even the word ‘melancholy’ is pretty, the way it rolls on your tongue. I think sadness adds something to literature that is unique. It’s an ingredient like . . .” I thought for a moment. “Like salt. Salt has that power to completely transform a dish. I think sadness has that same transformative effect in literature.

It should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.

It was a gentle love, a tactile love. It was all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. There was motion in our bodies and emotion in our discourse. We were a symphony of melody and melancholy. When you find peace in another’s presence, there is no mistaken.

It was a kind love, a selfless love. I was a dreamer, and you were a traveler. We met at the crossroads. 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.

It was a quiet love, a tacit love. It came without prelude or preamble. We never said the word love–we didn’t have to. It was in our laughter, in the sense of wonder we found in each other. And if we had doubts then, time has told us otherwise.

I used to think people were like lighthouses. That they were yhere to protect you. But they're no. People are lime whirlpools. They pull you in; they drag you under. You have to work so hard just to keep your head above water.

I wonder if there will be a morning when you'll wake up missing me. That some incident in your life, would have finally taught you the value of my worth. And you will feel a surge of longing, when you remember how I was good to you. When this day comes I hope you will look for me. I hope you will look with the kind of conviction I'd always hoped for, but never had from you. Because I want to be found. And I hope it will be you - who finds me.

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

Love is a game of tic-tac-toe, constantly waiting for the next x or o.

Loving You I saw him the other day. His arms around another girl, his eyes when met with mine - were low in their recognition. I wonder if he remembers what I once told him. I will love you forever. He had smiled at me sadly before giving his reply. But I am so afraid you may one day stop. Now all these years later, I am the one who is afraid. Because I love him, I still do. I haven't stopped, I don't think I can. I don't think I ever will.

Loyalty The only ones they can turn against you are those who were never with you.

Nothing felt like mine anymore, not after you. All those little things that defined me; small sentimental trinkets, car keys, pin codes, and passwords. They all felt like you. And more than anything else, my number - the one you boldly asked for that night, amidst a sea of people, under a sky of talking satellites and glowing stars. You said no matter how many times you erased me from your phone, you would still recognize that number when it flashed on your screen. The series of sixes and nines, like the dip of my waist to the curves of my hips, your hands pressed into the small of my back. Nines and sixes that were reminiscent of two contented cats, curled together like a pair of speech marks. You said if you could never hold me or kiss me again, you could live with that. But you couldn't bear the thought of us not speaking and asked, at the very least, could I allow you that one thing? I wonder what went through your mind the day you dialed my number to find it had been disconnected. If your imagination had raced with thoughts of what new city I run to and who was sharing my bed. Isn't it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours. Someone else's ring tone, someone else's broken heart. These are the things we inherit by choice or by chance. And it wasn't my choice to love you but it was mine to leave. I don't think the moon ever meant to be a satellite, kept in loving orbit, locked in hopeless inertia, destined to repeat the same pattern over and over - to meet in eclipse with the sun - only when the numbers allowed.

Our emotions pull us in different directions. The stronger the emotion, the greater the pull. Feelings are not always practical, nor do they make any logical sense. That's just the way it goes.

Reasons" I wish I knew why he left. What his reason were. Why he changed his mind. For all these years, I have turned it over in my head—all the possibilites—yet none of them make any sense. And then I think, perhaps it was beacause he never loved me. But that makes the least sense of all.

Regrets Timing is irrelevant when two people are meant for each other. It's what I once believed. But we met during a time when I was such a mess, when I still had so much to figure out. How could I have known how crucial every word, every action was or how losing you would be something I would always regret? If only you could have met me now, how different it would be. How much I have changed. How I have grown. I learned so much from all the mistakes I made with you. I just wish I had made them with someone else.

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.

Shipwrecks The wild seas for which she longed, lay far beyond the shore. The shipwreck that her lips had sung, meant she never left at all. It wasn't 'til the tide had won, that she learned it could not hurt her. It was the furthest she had gone - and she never went much further.