I am beginning to measure myself in strength, not pounds. Sometimes in smiles.
You have to know what you stand for, not just what you stand against.
Write about the emotions you fear the most.
Don't expect to make a difference unless you speak up for yourself.
Censorship is the child of fear and the father of ignorance.
A scar is a sign of strength. . .the sign of a survivor.
You can tell a book is real when your heart beats faster. Real books make you sweat. Cry, if no one is looking. Real books help you make sense of your crazy life. Real books tell it true, don't hold back and make you stronger. But most of all, real books give you hope. Because it's not always going to be like this and books-the good ones, the ones-show you how to make it better. Now.
I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.
When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time.
I wonder how long it would take for anyone to notice if I just stopped talking.
I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?
It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.
I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?
Can't escape pain, kiddo. Battle through it and you get stronger.
I need a new friend. I need a friend, period. Not a true friend, nothing close or share clothes or sleepover giggle giggle yak yak. Just a pseudo-friend, disposable friend. Friend as accessory. Just so I don't feel or look so stupid.
There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore.
School libraries are the foundations of our culture – not luxuries.
Do they choose to be so dense? Were they born that way? I have no friends. I have nothing. I say nothing. I am nothing.
When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You'd be shocked at how many adults are really dead inside—walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart attack or cancer or a Mack truck to come along and finish the job. It's the saddest thing I know.
It is easier not to say anything. Shut your trap, button your lip, can it. All that crap you hear on TV about communication and expressing feelings is a lie. Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say.
I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.
He says a million things without saying a word. I have never heard a more eloquent silence.
This is not our fight', the old man said. 'British or American, that is not the choice. You must choose your own side, find your road through the valley of darkness that will lead you to the river Jordan. . . Look hard for your river Jordan, my child. You'll find it.
Art without emotion its like chocolate cake without sugar. It makes you gag.
Apologies mean nothing if you don't mean it.
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