Bokelskere.no

He's a really nice guy, if only I weren't me.

When you have your health, you have everything. When you do not have your health, nothing else matters at all.

Like cubic zirconia, I only look real. I'm an imposter. The fact is, I am not like other people.

Peer: «Hvor var jeg som den hele, den sanne? Hvor var jeg med anelsens stempel på min panne?» Solveig svarer: «I min tro, i mitt håp, i min kjærlighet».

When I see you, the World stops. It stops and all that exists for me is you and my eyes staring at you. There’s nothing else. No noise, no other people, no thoughts or worries, no yesterday, no tomorrow. The World just stops, and it is a beautiful place, and there is only you.

Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.

More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to be close to someone. More than anything, all I have ever wanted is to feel as if i wasn't alone.

Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don’t work.

This is how it has always been with me. Give me something good, I’ll destroy it. Love me, I’ll destroy you. I have never felt deserving of anything in my life. I have never felt as if I were worth the diseased space I occupy. This feeling has inhabited everything I’ve ever done, seen or had anything to do with, and it has infected every relationship I have ever had with everyone I’ve ever known. I don’t understand why it’s here.

The line between normal and crazy seemed impossibly thin. A person would have to be an expert tightrope walker in order not to fall.

I just look at her and she creeps me out. She looks like she would eat a baby. Not that she's fat. She just looks hungry in some dangerous way that can't be explained. She's always so nice and friendly. Exactly the disposition of a baby killer.

I came to think that maybe God was what you believed in because you needed to feel you weren’t alone. Maybe God was simply that part of yourself that was always there and always strong, even when you were not.

I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.

This is the weird aftermath, when it is not exactly over, and yet you have given it up. You go back and forth in your head, often, about giving it up. It’s hard to understand, when you are sitting there in your chair, having breakfast or whatever, that giving it up is stronger than holding on, that “letting yourself go” could mean you have succeeded rather than failed. You eat your goddamn Cheerios and bicker with the bitch in your head that keeps telling you you’re fat and weak: Shut up, you say, I’m busy, leave me alone. When she leaves you alone, there’s a silence and a solitude that will take some getting used to. You will miss her sometimes…There is, in the end, the letting go.

For myself, I have no aim. I have no ambition. I will let myself be carried on by the general impulse. The surface of my mind slips along like a pale-grey stream reflecting what passes.