Sadness is an emotion you can trust. It is stronger than all of the other emotions. It makes happiness look fickle and untrustworthy. It pervades, lasts longer, and replaces the good feelings with such an eloquent ease you don’t even feel the shift until you are suddenly wrapped in its chains. How hard we strive for happiness, and once we finally have the elusive feeling in our grasp, we hold it briefly, like water as it trickles through our fingers.
There is only war in love,” he says. “If anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying. The constant fight to keep love relevant, while growing and changing as a human, is the battle. You fight for them, fight to keep them, fight to love them. Do you fight for yourself, or do you fight for the relationship? What can’t you live without? There’s your answer.
That’s the worst thing about being young. You really have no clue about all the changes that are coming. And when they come, no matter how people have warned you, you are genuinely surprised.
I believe in loneliness so deep and profound it has a physical presence.
I think it’s hard for you to fall in love because you like control, and you can’t control what another person does or feels, so you keep all your cards.
We think we can control our lives, but our lives control us. And everything that touches our lives controls us. People have less power than they think they do. It’s just the reactions we control.
You’re a dead language, you know that? No one is like you, and you are like no one.
If I were dead like Snow White and he kissed me like that, surely my heart would kick back to life. That I’d be the one to slay dragons for that kiss.
If each of our lives represented a page in a book, happiness would be the punctuation.
That’s the most pathetic part of being a human, the emotions you don’t ask for or want, they just rush you anyway.
I’m trying to find myself.” Greer grins. “That, my dear, is the scariest thing you’re ever going to do.” “Why is that?” “Because you might not like what you find.
Art is the war against what we do not choose to feel. It’s the battle of color, words, sound, and shape, and it rages for or against love.
You are a lot uglier than you think, plenty more selfish than you are ever likely to admit. So, you ignore what’s inside of you. Thinking if you don’t acknowledge it, it’s not really there. Until someone unlikely comes along and cracks you. They see every dark corner, and they get it. And they tell you it’s okay to have dark corners, instead of making you feel ashamed of them.
Weak people let their pain choke them to a slow, emotional death. Strong people use that pain, Margo. They use it as fuel.
The loss of innocence is the most severe of growing pains.
That’s good. You don’t forgive because they deserve it. Most of the time they don’t. You forgive to keep your heart soft. To move forward without bitterness. Forgiveness is for you.
Life is but a carousel of four seasons. Unpredictable for the most part. Happy. Unhappy. Content. Searching. Mess up the order, and they still rebound at one point or another. I’ve learned that revolution can be inward or outward. A move across the country to gain perspective. A change of heart and mind to gain sanity. But the point is to revolt when the season changes. If only to quench your thirst, revolt.
How many times can a heart be broken before it is beyond mend? How many times can I wish to not be alive? How can one human being cause such a crack in my existence? I alternate between periods of numbness and inconceivable pain all in the span of – an hour? An hour feels like a day, a day feels like a week. I want to live, and then I want to die. I want to cry, and then I want to scream.
You’re just raw, and yourself, and beautiful. You don’t need anything from anyone, unless it’s the kind of love that chooses you first, always.
Be good and be kind,” I tell her. “No matter how pretty you grow up to be.