People are never perfect, but love can be. Loving makes perfect. Loving makes itself. Wouldn't that be the way to make love stay?

We want perfection without practice. Yet everyone is harmed if no one is trained for the future.

She was like the dust that clung to his shirt. She was in the silences that had become so frequent at the house, silences that welled up between their words, sometimes cold and hollow, sometimes pregnant with things that went unsaid, like a cloud filled with rain that never fell.

Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past.

Written By Jack London

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