It's just like nurses in a hospital tend to know more than the doctors most of the time; if you really want to get the answers to a question about court, you should spend more time buttering up the clerks than the judges.
You live and let live, eventually that becomes enough.
You’ll tell yourself anything you have to, to pretend that you’re still the one in control.
No one gets to start where they left off; it just doesn't work that way.
Not everyone understands how you can spin two lassos at the same time, one of hope and one of grief.
Wheather it is conscious or not, you eventually make the decision to divide your life in half - before and after - with loss being that tight bubble in the middle. You can move around in spite of it; you can laugh and smile and carry on with your life, but all it takes is one slow range of motion, a doubling over, to be fully aware of the empty space at your center.
In this new place we've found, sometimes there aren't words, because the truth can be even more difficult than the lies.
It's like the psychiatrists themselves are buying into that stupid belief that therapy is something to hide.
We make messes of our lives, but every now and then, we manage to do something that's exactly right. The challenge is figuring out which is which.
Once the world was pulled out from beneath your feet, did you ever get to stand on firm ground again?
What’s the difference between spending your life trying to be invisible, or pretending to be the person you think everyone wants you to be? Either way, you’re faking.
Or. I hate that word. It’s two letters long and stuffed to the gills with reasonable doubt.
There was a difference between people looking at you because they wanted to be like you, and people looking at you because your misfortune brought them one rung higher.
Why do some memories bleed out of nowhere and others stay locked behind doors?
For someone who can’t remember very much, there seems to be a lot I can’t forget.
Why are you doing this to yourself? When something bad happens, why do you have to pick at it until it bleeds all over again?
Accidents did not just happen. From time to time they were carefully plotted, calculated, and arranged to one’s advantage-all, of course, under the cloak of happenstance.
And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade.
In reality, you don’t ever change the hurricane. You just learn how to stay out of its path.
People don’t just disappear. There’s always a reason, or an enemy with a grudge. There’s always a loose thread that starts to unravel.
You can stay up all night and still not count all the ways to lose the people you love.
Instead of doing the best thing, we sometimes have to settle for the rightest thing.
You get through it, you just never get over it
Everyone deserves a happy ending.
No one ever asks a kid for her opinion, but it seems to me that growing up means you stop hoping for the best, and start expecting the worst.
"Everyone still deserves to have their say."
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