The process of growing up was nothing more than figuring out what doors hadn't yet been slammed in your face.
You can't win. Either you have the baby and wear your pain on the outside, or you don't have the baby, and you keep that ache in you forever
How could you not want to draw breath one more day? How could your own life be such a cheap commodity? But then I started to understand: when your existence is hell, death must be heaven.
A lie, as you probably know, has a taste all its own. Blocky and bitter and never quite right.
I am not keeping my distance because it is uncomfortable for me, but because it is uncomfortable for them.
I think that's probably the most devastating thing - when someone who is larger than life winds up a shadow of themselves in a hospital bed.
I consider myself spiritual and I'm married to a man who is both an atheist and a humanist, and my kids have been raised with the traditions of different religions, but they do not go to church or temple. My feeling is that everyone should be able to believe what they want or need to believe.
If you read a book that's fiction and you get caught in the characters and the plot, and swept away, really, by the fiction of it - by the non-reality - you sometimes wind up changing your reality as well. Often, when the last page is turned, it will haunt you.
If you want to see God laugh, make a plan.
Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed--sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.
There are some dreams that get stuck between your teeth when you sleep, so that when you open your mouth to yawn awake they fly right out of you.
See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it
And the very act of living is a tide; at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded
Do you know how sometimes - when you are riding your bike and you start skidding across sand, or when you miss a step and start tumbling down the stairs - you have those long, long seconds to know that you are going to be hurt, and badly?
Sometimes there aren't words. The silence between us is flung wide as an ocean. But I manage to reach across it, to wrap my arms around him.
So much of the language of love was like that: you devoured someone with your eyes, you drank in the sight of him, you swallowed him whole. Love was substance, broken down and beating through your bloodstream.
You are only as invincible as your smallest weakness, and those are tiny indeed - the length of a sleeping baby's eyelash, the span of a child's hand. Life turns on a dime, and - it turns out - so does one's conscience.
I sometimes wonder if it is just me, or if there are other women who figure out where they are supposed to be by going nowhere.
At 17, the smallest crises took on tremendous proportions; someone else's thoughts could take root in the loam of your own mind; having someone accept you was as vital as oxygen. Adults, light years away from this, rolled their eyes and smirked and said, 'This too shall pass' - as if adolescence was a disease like chicken pox, something everyone recalled as a milk nuisance, completely forgetting how painful it had been at the time.
It's disappointing to know that someone can see right through you.
Things had a way of working out for the best when you let them run their course.
It's choice that makes us human.
You can believe something really hard,' Faith says, 'and still be wrong.
I've always sort of wondered: If everyone else's opinion is what matters, then do you ever really have one of your own?
Whether or not you believe in Fate comes down to one thing: who do you blame when something goes wrong.
"Everyone still deserves to have their say."
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