More than most, I know the pain of surviving.
I felt like the blonde in every horror movie who hears a noise in the basement and goes to investigate alone. Sometimes you smell the stupid all around you, but you step in it anyway.
I'll always want him. Until every sun goes dark in every sky, until I am nothing more than long-forgotten cosmic dust, I will want him. And even then I suspect my particles will long for his.
Time is fluid, so the moments where everything feels perfect pass in a wink, and those where you're on your knees in despair drag on like the death of a thousand cuts.
Sometimes the past needed to stay buried; it was the only way you could move on. And sometimes you had to dig it up, because that too was the only way.
You don’t know what it’s like to be alone until you’ve had someone inside your head.
We stand a professional distance apart, as if I can’t feel his pain screaming in my head. Mine amplifies his; they share a joint sound—that of glass breaking—until they swell to a crescendo that deafens.
My skill didn't lie in planning battles, only in fighting them.
Most people can’t stomach silence; it provides too much opportunity to think about things they prefer to avoid.
I’ve lost so many people. Some I left on purpose and never looked back. Some were taken from me, and I never said good-bye.
But the world moves on, even when you don't want it to, even when change feels like the end of everything. It never stops.
It’s what you do that counts, not what you consider doing.
Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.
Sometimes I miss the old me.
The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.
He's earned a lifetime of peace and happiness, but some people never get what they deserve. That's why there are saints in gutters and sadists in palaces.
People try to make sense of things, and if they don’t know the answers, they make them up,because for some, a wrong answer is better than none.
If I ever win you," he said, anger bright in his pale eyes, "it will be because you want me more. Not because he's gone. I'm nobody's second best.
I know you have bad news,” I say softly. “I’m ready for it.” But that’s not true. One is never ready. You just lie and say you are and hope you can take the hit on the chin without going down.
Love sounded terrible if it made you so weak, you couldn't survive with out it.
He's never going to sit at my feet and write me poems, which is good because I hate poetry, except dirty ones that rhyme.
Nobility and self-sacrifice sound wonderful in theory, but now he’s seen how it feels. A dead hero is still dead at the end of the day, and you’re still alone.
Through the damp fabric of my coverall, bundled in my blanket, I feel naked. Raw. He sees more than I want, more than I can bear. It’s like standing before him ... while he stares at my scars, pitiless and unmoved.
Sometimes you find your heroes in the unlikeliest places.
Before he bent his head, I knew what he was going to do. Touch his lips to mine. Oh, and I wanted him to... I stilled, hardly daring to breathe. The old refrain of cant and shouldn't sank beneath the weight of new worlds like please and yes.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends