I guess the hardest part in letting him go was realizing that I was the rough draft, and she was the final copy. He marked me up, leaving scratches and foot notes along my skin, so that when the time came, she could be clear of his mistakes. But he should never forget that he still has traces of my ink on side of his hand. The hand I used to hold.
—  Belle Jar
When love finds you, it doesn’t come with crashing waves or thunderbolts.  It appears as a song on the radio or a particular blue in the sky.  It dawns on you slowly, like a warm winter sunrise—where the promise of summer shines out from within.
—  Lang Leav