You know, life fractures us all into little pieces. It harms us, but it's how we glue those fractures back together that make us stronger.
We all live with our losses. We don't want to, but we can
I like a lot of things that aren't good for me.
The ending has to fit. The ending has to matter, and make sense. I could care less about whether it's happy or sad or atomic. The ending is the place where you go, “Aha. Of course. That's right.”
Nobody is perfect, though. We all want everyone to think we are, but perfection is some crazy mythical state that we can never achieve. It is a goal beyond our grasp, always shifting and changing and taunting us, because it knows...it knows we can never reach it.
What we do, our choices, that's what defines us
I’m not a damsel and there is no distress
Losing people you love affects you. It is buried inside of you and becomes this big, deep hole of ache. It doesn't magically go away, even when you stop officially mourning.
There is something about libraries, old libraries, that makes them seem almost sacred. There's a smell of paper and must and binding stuff. It's like all the books are fighting against decay, against turning into dust, and at the same time fighting for attention.
It is love which made all this. War which protects it. With love comes responsibility and possibility, fear and hopes, quests and suffering.
It's hard to save the world when you can't save yourself
Emotions are real, just not the reasons behind them.
We all have to feel empty sometimes.
I am not 'most' and I am not 'people'.
I used to be embarrassed by my mom, but now I know what she is-she's a hero.
Friends help friends fight pixies.
I crumple on my bed. For a second, i believed that what i wanted more than anything in the world had come true. For a second, i believed that my dad was back. but he isn't. He's gone again. he's really truly gone and i know it. i know i'll never see him again no matter how much i want to. The candle in me has blown out and i'm afraid, really, really afraid, because my biggest fear is true. i have to live my life without my dad, my running partner, the guy who taught me amnesty and sang john lennon songs really off key.
Astley comes to my side. 'Are you well?' 'No,' I tell him, voice hoarse. 'I am not well. I am broken inside. I am broken almost all-the-way deep, and I don't know...I don't know if I can ever be unbroken, let alone well again'
What I have learned lately is that people deal with death in all sorts of ways. Some of us fight against it, doing everything we can to make it not true. Some of us lose our selves to grief. Some of us lose ourselves to anger.
I just think about how saying that you love someone can make your heart feel like some sort of brownie sundae, warm, gooey, sweet and good.
A cheerleader? Do I look like a guy who'd be interested in talking to a cheerleader?
Loving you is a full-time job. It's a great job, don't get me wrong. It's the best job in the universe. But it's not easy.
What feels best is how I no longer hurt.
Is everyone as wrong about me as I am about them?
He has an armload of irises and daisies and tulips and he presents them to me. I didn't know what kind of flowers you like.I like them all.Yeah?Yeah.He tries to hand them to me, but then remembers the cast. I'll put them in water.Betty swoops in the room ridiculously fast and she grabs the flowers out of Nick's hands. I'll take care of them. You lovebirds just sit on the couch and think swooning things at each other.
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