“I'm not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I've gotten from books.”
“It's a good thing most people bleed on the inside or this would be a gory, blood-smeared earth.”
“I'm partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we're all trying to be shadows of each other, trying to buy the same records and everything even if we don't like them. Kids are like robots, off an assembly line, and I don't want to be a robot!”
“I really am only one infinitely small part of an aching humanity.”
“I wouldn't intentionally hurt anyone in this whole world. I wouldn't hurt them physically or emotionally, how then can people so consistently do it to me? Even my parents treat me like I'm stupid and inferior and ever short. I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.”
“I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.”
“Maybe the new me will be different.”
“I'm afraid to live and afraid to die.”
“How is it possible for me to be so miserable and embarrassed and humiliated and beaten an function still talk and smile and concentrate?”
“The same old dumb teachers teaching the same old dumb subjects in the same old dumb school. I seem to be kind of losing interest in everything. At first I thought high school would be fun but it's just dull. Everything's dull. Maybe it's because I'm growing up and life is becoming more blase.”
“Why is life so difficult? Why can't we be just ourselves and have everyone accept us the way we are?”
“She didn't know whether she was running away from something or running to something, but she admitted that deep in her heart she wanted to go home.”
“Nobody's talking to me, but nobody's hassling me either. I guess you can't have everything.”
“They have accepted me as an individual, as a personality, as an entity. I belong! I am important! I am somebody!”
“…I’d have died without them [books]. Even now I’m not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I’ve gotten from books.”
“I can't believe that I changed so little. I expected to look old and hollow and gray, but I guess it's only me on the inside that has shriveled and deteriorated.”
“I've been asleep and I don't know if it's the same day or week or year, but who the hell cares anyway?”
“I'm partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we're all trying to be shadows of each other, trying to buy the same records and everything even if we don't like them.”
“I'm afraid to hope but I can't help it, and the idea of hoping in this most hopeless of all places makes me want to cry.”
“We get pissed off when someone tells us what to do, but we don't know what to do unless some fat bastard tell us.”
“It's a good thing most people bleed on the inside or this would really be a gory, blood-smeared earth.”
“I bet the pill is harder to get than drugs--which shows how screwed up this world really is!”
“I looked at sky this morning and realized summer is almost gone which really made me sad because it doesn't seem as though its been here at all.”
“I don’t want to get old. I have this very silly fear, dear friend, that one day I’ll be old, without ever having really been young.”
“This morning when I left Mom's parting words were, "Come straight home after school." Wow! Like I'm going to get stoned at 3:30—it doesn't sound so bad at that.”
“I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Lewis G Carroll was on drugs too.”
“If only parents would listen! If only they would let us talk instead of forever and eternally and continuously harping and preaching and nagging and correcting and yacking, yacking, yacking! But they won’t listen! They simply won’t or can’t or don’t want to listen, and we kids keep winding up back in the same old frustrating, lost, lonely corner with no one to relate to either verbally or physically.”
“I'm partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we're all trying to be shadows of each other...”
“Antes pensaba que la única que sentía las cosas era yo, pero realmente no soy sino una parte infinitamente pequeña de la humanidad que sufre.”
“Tengo este necio temor: el temor de ser vieja sin haber sido nunca joven de
verdad.”
“I would say that chess has more to do with the art of murder than it does with the art of war.”
“You’re very lucky. Bastien is a wonderful man. Smart, hardworking, nice, and a perfect gentleman, he’ll—” “Kate,” Terri interrupted. “We’re going to the museum. It isn’t necessarily a date. The man’s just being a good host until you get back.” “Uh-huh.” Her cousin didn’t sound convinced. “Have fun. I know you will. And tell him hello from us. We’ll call again in the next couple of days to see how the romance is progressing.” “There’s no romance to progress!” Terri protested. But she was speaking to dead air. Kate had already hung up the phone. Terri stared at the receiver in her hand with dismay.”
“Why do you hurt me? What more do you want?” she asked, tears shining in her eyes.
“Power over you, little one,” he said, smiling. “What does any man want but that? It is something in the blood of every one of us. We would all be a tyrant if we could.”
“Pourquoi?" Kingsley demanded. "Why? You take her every way you can, every chance you have. Why her and not me?"
Soren hadn't replied, and for that Kingsley had been forever grateful. He knew the answer, but to hear it would have broken the one last unbroken part of his spirit.”
“And so, when I began to read the proffered pages, I at one moment lost the train of thought in the text and drowned it in my own feelings. In these seconds of absence and self-oblivion, centuries passed with every read but uncomprehended and unabsorbed line, and when, after a few moments, I came to and re-established contact with the text, I knew that the reader who returns from the open seas of his feelings is no longer the same reader who embarked on that sea only a short while ago.”
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