“How many of us suffered to death?How many of them gained more wealth?How many of us mourned?How many of them earned?How many times we suffered such a pain?How many times they will do this again?They are Cruelbut…We don’t have to be.”

“It all seemed so impossible, so difficult after searching for her, not knowing for so long. How many times had his daughter suffered some human sickness, death or heartache over the course of her many lifetimes? How many times had she loved, cried and been without her father when she most needed him most?”

“How many more of us are faking the facade? How many more of us are pretending to be something we're not? Even better, how many of us will have the courage to be ourselves regardless of what others think?”

“That’s how it ends So, this is it.when we lose it allbutthis is not the EndThis is onlyThe Beginning of the End”

“How many times before I finally convince myself, how many private, erasable deaths will I need to die, how many self-murders is it going to take, how many times will I have to destroy myself before I learn, before I understand?”

“How many times have I failed before? How many times have I stood here like this, in front of my own image, in front of my own person, trying to convince him not to be scared, to go on, to get out of this rut? How many times before I finally convince myself, how many private, erasable deaths will I need to die, how may self-murders is it going to take, how many times will I have to destroy myself before I learn, before I understand?”

“There are so many little dyings How do we know which one of them is death?”