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.
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?
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.
Safety is relative. You can be so close to shore that you can practically feel it under your feet, when you suddenly find yourself breaking apart on the rocks.
You can be strapped to the most stable chair and still feel the world give way beneath you.
The English judged a person so that they'd be justified in casting her out. The Amish judged a person so that they'd be justified in welcoming her back. Where I'm from, if someone is accused of sinning, it's not so that others can place blame. It's so that the person can make amends and move on.
When you don't know where you're headed, you find places no one else would ever explore.
I don't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't want to tell myself it's over when it's not.
It was the first time she'd discovered something she really didn't want to find, and she didn't know what to do once she'd found it.
The brain of a person in love will show activity in the amygdala, which is associated with gut feelings, and in the nucleus accumbens, an area associated with rewarding stimuli that tends to be active in drug abusers. Or, to recap: the brain of a person in love doesn't look like the brain of someone overcome by deep emotion. It looks like the brain of a person who's been snorting coke.
When your mother is made out of your dreams, anything real is bound to disappoint you.
Eric understands that the world is rarelythe way it is supposed to be. And he knows that, given the chance, we don't have to wait for someone to make messes of our lives. We do a good enough job, ourselves.
Sometimes we don't know we're dreaming; we can't even fathom that we're asleep.
In half hour my mother has managed to give me what my father couldn't: my past.
Memories aren't stored in the heart or the head or even the soul, if you ask me, but in the spaces between any given two people.
What could you give me," I ask, my voice shaking, "to make me forget ... that you forgot about me?
"Everyone still deserves to have their say."
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: