Since our school went MiNet blind, it’s for seriously more like 1836 than 2036.
I never understood the point of being sad when I could choose to be happy.
I know. It’s shocking to think that the government would try to stick its nose in our ladyparts.
Faith is accepting what makes no sense, what we cannot prove, but know down deep in our souls is real.
I almost can’t believe I’m going to make myself vulnerable to him again. But what is love but the most extreme and exquisite form of risk perception? I know that relationships don’t last. And yet, with him, the risk of not being with him is much worse than any other hurt I can imagine.
I feel better when I am not around people. When I am alone, alone, alone.
I just don’t see the point in beating myself up. I think it’s more productive to concentrate on being a better person right now than punishing myself for who I was in the past.
I hate the very human inclination towards insensitivity.
Zen cuts straight through the Quidditch match in progress and almost gets taken down by a Beater hurling a Nerf quaffle right at his machopartes.
The higher my GPA gets the more I realize high school is useless.
It kind of makes me wish that the worst thing that will ever happen to me would just hurry up and happen already. That way I could live the rest of my life in bliss, if only because I know how much worse things could be.
I don’t know anything about anything. The only difference between then and now is this: I may know more than I used to but my wisdom pales in comparison to that which I have yet to learn.
Bad things can happen to anyone at any time, whether you follow the rules or not.
The tales we tell ourselves about ourselves makes us who we are.
It’s just Jessica and Marcus, oxymoronically alone together.
I don’t know if she’s making the right choice, but it’s not my choice to make. I promise to support her, whatever she decides. Because that’s what sisters do.
I love when I reach Marcus on the phone and as he says hello, I can hear the music he’s listening to in the background. That music is the sound of him without me. How he surrounds himself when I’m not there, which is almost all the time.
The road less traveled will not be smooth.
I knew, deep down, that love, though a beautiful beginning, isn’t enough. It’s the practice of honoring and caring for another that’s noble, not the emotion of love itself. The emotion is the easy part.
I do so much revising as I go along; I wonder how I could write books if I hadn’t grown up in the computer age. I think I’d be a very different writer. I find myself cutting and pasting, changing things around and deleting whole paragraphs constantly.