Better a sick heart than none. Till it starts to break.
Our hearts are bars of soap that we keep losing hold of; the moment we relax, they drift off and fall in love and get broken, all in the wink of an eye.
My heart threatens to break free of my rib cage, pounding so hard I’m convinced the sound will give us away.
Yes, my heart, singing then like a cicada, for the first time experienced a feeling of the nymph emerging from the earth.
The heart is the seat of a faculty, sympathy, that allows us to share at times the being of another.
There comes a time when the heart is so certain of what it wants that the tongue cannot be persuaded not to utter it.