I make it through the first two weeks of school without a nuclear meltdown.
I can’t tell anymore when I’m asleep and when I’m awake, or which is worse.
You must walk alone to find your soul.
Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting. Be the tree.
It made me strong.I took a step back, near my whole self in the mirror.I pushed back my shoulders and raised my chin, my back straight as an arrow.
When life sucks, read. They can't yell at you for that. And if they do, then you can ignore them.
I picked up one of the books and flipped through it. Don't get me wrong, I like reading. But some books should come with warning labels: Caution: contains characters and plots guaranteed to induce sleepiness. Do not attempt to operate heavy machinery after ingesting more than one chapter. Has been known to cause blindness, seizures and a terminal loathing of literature. Should only be taken under the supervision of a highly trained English teacher. Preferably one who grades on the curve.
Sometimes being an adult means doing the right thing, even if it's not what you want.
Everybody told me to be a man. Nobody told me how.
Having a friend made everything else suck less.
Melancholy held me hostage, and the bees built a hive of sadness in my soul.
I pull my lower lip all the way in between my teeth. If I try hard enough, maybe I can gobble my whole self this way.... I didn't try hard enough to swallow myself.
I've written in every imaginable location; a repurposed closet, the kitchen table, the bleachers while my kids had basketball practice, the front seat of the car when they were at soccer. In airports. On trains. In the break room when I was supposed to be wolfing down dinner. In the back of classrooms when I was supposed to be paying attention.
I am almost a real girl the entire drive home. I went to a diner. I drank hot chocolate and ate french fries. Talked to a guy for a while. Laughed a couple of times. A little like ice-skating for the first time, wobbly, but I did it.
It's a shame we can't just admit that we failed family living, sell the house, split up the money, and get on with our lives.
Mr. Freeman: You are getting better at this, but it's not good enough. This looks like a tree,but it is an average, ordinary, everyday, boring tree. Breathe life into it. Make it bend - trees are flexible, so they don't snap. Scar it, give it a twisted branch - perfect trees don't exist. Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting. Be the tree.
I wanted to pull down a book, open it proper, and gobble up page after page
I cry to let everything out
i decapitated dandelions all morning, leaving carnage and death strewn into my path.
Gym should be illegal. It's humiliating.
We turned us into wintergirls, and when she tried to leave, I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone.
The bathroom door swings open. Emma sees the blood painting my skin and the red rivers carved on my body. Emma sees the wet knife, silver and bone. The screams of my little sister shatter mirrors.
So, she tells me, the words dribbling out with the cranberry muffin crumbs, commas dunked in her coffee.
Here stands a girl clutching a knife. There is grease on the stove, blood in the air, and angry words piled in the corners. We are trained not to see it, not to see any of it. . . . Someone just ripped off my eyelids.
This is wonderful, wonderful! Be the bird. You are the bird. Sacrifice yourself to abandoned family values.
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