It was like death by a thousand paper cuts.
Worry may not change the outcome, but it definately affects the outlook.
Sometimes divulging your vulnerabilities without any kind of filter can make you more human, but then again, it can also provide material that can be used against you.
Talk is cheap. If it wasn’t, people might not toss around ‘I love you’ like a marked-down phrase in a sales bin.
Sometimes it’s the things that are all around us that are hardest to see, especially love.
And though the symptons of lovesickness may be many, they all share a single cause and single cure: you.
If you want sympathy, look for a friend, but if you want honesty, an enemy might be the best friend you ever had.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I should die before I awake, I pray the popular attend my wake.
We all want to be stars. The idea of being revered and envied must be encoded somewhere deep in our DNA. So must the desire to revere and envy others we imagine to be better, more accepted, and more popular than we are. The only problem is that the most necessary qualities required to be a celebrity – self-absorption, egomania, shamelessness – are the least attractive in a friend.
Just as love blinds us to imperfections in others, it magnifies those we see in ourselves. But if this is true, then the opposite must also be the case. We can take comfort in the fact that our faults will be invisible to those who love us. The success or failure of any relationship depends not just on how we feel about each other, but on how we make each other feel about ourselves.
There are many ways to be haunted, not all of them supernatural. From photo albums to love letters, the memory of bad choices, broken promises, lost loves and shattered dreams can often linger far longer than the glow of satisfaction from our greatest accomplishments. Indeed, the most frightening ways to be haunted may be in the many ways we haunt ourselves.
I don’t know what I’m doing... I’m failing at everything that matters to me.
The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. – Oscar Wilde.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we – Of many far wiser than we – And neither the angels in Heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
She would never, she thought, be allowed to enjoy a moments pleasure without an eternity of pain.
She had penetrated his dream, but not in the way he penetrated hers.
She had nothing left to lose and she needed him to herself, for just a little while.
There was no escape for her. No relief. She had exhausted all possibilities and all her hope was gone, washed away...
Maybe, just like her, he needed to drown out all that was wrong, all that was thrown at him, and to check out for a while.
Her chest felt like it was a hollow cavity encasing a cold, hard rock.
What doesn’t kill you, makes you paranoid.