I can’t believe that it’s come to something like this. I hoped that we would be able to work things through. But, there are a few things that I don’t understand. First of all, are you with me or against me? I would prefer it if I could count you as an ally or friend. Especially after I’ve revealed so much of my heart to you, I would hope that everything I’ve done has not been in vain. That somewhere deep inside you resides the capacity for empathy or emotion towards me. But oft more than not, I’ve found that the marks that I leave are scars. I hoped that you would be my redemption from what I’ve done. In the end, I needed more saving and more help than anyone else. That in my life, there was one person that I…left some good for. But alas, that was just a castle that I built in the clouds, magnificence built on the foundation of fantasy and nothing more. I thank you and applaud you lasting with me as long as you had as I sunk back into the abyss. Maybe everything in the end was a lie. That I’d leave behind nothing good, nothing positive for people to remember me by. It seems to me that in the end, no matter how much laughter and gaiety I may cause, in the end it’s reduced to tears and sorrow. I’ve been on a roller-coaster ride going up, but now seems to be my descent. I’ve lost family, loyal friends, and my beating heart full of life, zest, and energy. To only be replaced by disdainful family, disloyal and horrendous friends and with a wounded heart held together by stitches. I’ve alienated everyone that I love and ever cared for. I apologize for entering into your life, I’m sure that your life would have been much better without me. I’ve given you nothing but pain and sorrow. I honestly hate myself for that and for dragging you down with me. I’m sorry, so sorry. I guess in the end I’m nothing more than a piece of shit. .
"Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist."
— George Carlin
"The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling."
— David Foster Wallace
"It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t coma back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too. You’re nodding your head."
— Henry Rollins (The Portable Henry Rollins)
"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."
— Neil Gaiman (The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones)
“to be there for someone who needs you and making them smile even when you yourself are about to break down the very next moment ~ takes a lot of selflessness, effort, love and care.”
“sex is the consolation you have when you can’t have love”
― Gabriel García Márquez
“The world is full of love that goes unspoken, it doesn’t mean that it is felt less deeply or that separation leaves a cleaner wound, its beauty and its pain are in its silence.”
“What was the point of being able to forgive, when deep down, you both had to admit you’d never forget?”
― Jodi Picoult, The Tenth Circle
“Let us read, and let us dance; these two amusements will never do any harm to the world.”
“I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.”
― Margaret Atwood, Cat’s Eye
“If there was a God. I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this. If there was a Devil, I would sell my soul to make it end. If there was something Higher that controlled out f***ing fates, I would tell it to take my fate and shove it up its fucking ass. Shove it hard and far, you motherf***er. Please end. Please end. Please end.”
"Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days."
"We`re not in Wonderland anymore, Alice."
— Charles Manson