After the race, he tossed his wet, cloud white hair and said, 'You're a god.' No, Anderson, you're the god.

I cannot write a poem on Valentines day, I really must see you, I need to steal words from your eyes, I can only think of your eyes now.

Take my advice, Sarmad, you re still young and the future is ahead of you. We can either shut all the doors in your face or open a thousand doors for you you re free to choose.