I feel the universe is telling me something. And it doesn't even matter if it's true or not. What matters is that I feel it, and believe it.
There will always be more questions. Every answer leads to more questions. The only way to survive is to let some of them go.
It's hard to answer a question you haven't been asked. It's hard to show you tried unless you end up succeeding.
There are few things harder than being born into the wrong body.
i have to cross the river of extreme awkwardness in order to get to the paradise on the other side.
I hope that George doesn't internalize her scare tactics. I want to argue with her, tell her that "sins of the flesh" is just a control mechanism -- if you demonize a person's pleasure, then you can control his or her life. I can't say how many times this tool has been wielded against me, in a variety of forms. But I see no sin in a kiss. I only see sin in the condemnation.
In small letters, someone has written NEVER FORGET on one of the slats. I know it's supposed to be a pledge, but it feels like a curse. Don't we have to forget some of it? Don't we have to forget this feeling? If we don't, how will we live?
I don't want to fall. All I want to do is stand on solid ground.
Void is when there is absolutely nothing there and the nothing is natural, a complete vacuum. But empty - with empty, you are aware of what's supposed to be there. Empty means something is missing.
That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.
That whole week, we started to divide things into those two categories: anything or something. A piece of jewelry bougth at a department store: anything. A piece of jewelry made by hand: something. A dollar: anything. A sand dollar: something. A gift certificate: anything. An IOU for two hours of starwatching: something. A drunk kiss at a party: anything. A sober kiss alone in a park: something.
It is very hard to stay alive just for your own sake. It is very hard to stare into day after day without another familiar face staring back. It turns your heart into a purposeless muscle.
She stays in the same spot, anchored by the profound, desperate loneliness of a bad relationship.
I say good-bye to the part of myself that misses him so much.
Love and I once had a great relationship, but I fear we've broken up. It cheated on me, wrecked my heart, and then went on to date other people. A lot of other people. And I can't stand to watch it, since love's going to cheat on them too.
I have already spent roughly five thousand hours asleep next to you. This has to mean something.
I have no idea how he knows when I need him. We can go weeks without speaking, and then, when my blue moods threaten to turn black, he will show up and tell me my moods are azure indigo cerulean cobalt periwinkle and suddenly the blue will not seem so dark, more like the color of a noon-bright sky. He brings the sun.
When it comes to true dance, it's not about how you look, it's all about the joy you feel.
the world loves stupid labels. i wish we got to choose our own.
Pink is female - but why? Are girls any more pink than boys? Are boys any more blue than girls? It's something that has been sold to us, mostly so other things can be sold to us.
Family, like arsenic, works best in small doses...unless you prefer to die.
In Sliding Doors, the whole idea is that every choice you make, and every single thing that happens to you changes the trajectory of your life, and once you are put on that trajectory, there is no way back. But Groundhog Day - which, I tell him, also happens to be a much better movie - says the opposite. It says if you mess up or make the wrong choice, you just have to keep at it until you do it right.
This is what a memorial is: standing still, staring at something that isn’t ther
I guess it's a choice we make," she said. "What's a choice?" I asked. And she said, "How much of the world we let in.
That strange, twisted, torn love. That conflict between what your heart knows is right and what your mind is told is right.
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