Some things are better left the way they are.
You are responsible for your own life and what happens in it, so are the other people.
So you do read the papers. Usually kids your age need a bomb up their backsides, but it’s good to see you’ve got your wits about you.
Miracles only grow where you plant them.
They’re seeing each other for the first time, two complete strangers, unable to take their eyes off each other. It is the moment his life splits; who he was before he met her and who becomes after.
The same highly unlikely thing never happens to the same person twice.
I nurtured with a view to eventually saying goodbye, he nurtured to hold on.
People do whatever the hell they want to do at any age they fancy. Last month you were thirty-five. That means you’re five years from forty. Do you think that the day you reach forty you will be any different than you were at thirty-nine or forty-one for that matter? People create little ideas about ages so they can write silly self-help books, stick stupid comments in birthday cards, create names for internet chat rooms and look for excuses for crisis that are happening in their life.
Each second is rather torturous, as though it will never move on, and as though it will never get any easier, and yet when I look back on it, look where we are. Two weeks on. And I’m doing it. And I still believe I simply cannot.
I constantly feel hungry, metaphorically and literally. I am hungry for something to do, somewhere to go, but I’m also hungry for everything in my kitchen because it’s there, right beside me, every day and I have nothing better to do than eat it. I am bored. And as much as it pains me to say it, I am lonely. I can go an entire day without any socialisation, without a conversation with anyone. I wonder sometimes if I’m invisible.
The cold, like the darkness, can become a deceptive comfort you never want to leave.
And yet time eventually runs out and you wonder in your heart of hearts if those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades were being spent the best way they possibly could.
And there are the very special people in our lives who have the endless capacity to love us for all of our flaws.
She wished all her memories could be of the good times, but the bad times kept coming back to haunt her.
Her mind. It was far stronger than any muscle in her body.
For him life was all full of opportunities, and I don’t think that was necessarily a bad thing, but I think he wanted to grab them for all the wrong reasons. He wasn’t passionate about art, he didn’t care about lawyers helping people, he didn’t even care about my singing voice. It was all for more money. And so I suppose it was fitting that it was the loss of all his money that killed him in the end. The pills and the whiskey were just the nails in the coffin.
The tattoo is there not because I believe there is something wrong with me. It’s there to remind me that our flaws are our strengths.
It was comforting to know she wasn’t alone in feeling alone.
A sunflower for my sunflower. To brighten the dark October days you hate so much. Plant some more, and be safe in the knowledge a warm and bright summer awaits.
She also wants the freedom to be able to act as she deems appropriate, without fearing or dreading the feedback, the sensing the disapproval and disappointment. Of always letting him down. Of having to check herself. She doesn’t want any more cold air between them, but mostly she doesn’t like to have to second-guess herself at a job that she knows she’s more than capable of doing.