Der, mot det spinkle brystet hennes, der mot det bankende hjertet... der druknet han.

The bearded grinning head rose straight up in the air. One leg kicked forward, the other back, as if Paul had attempted some sort of a split so enthusiastic it had resulted in dismemberment.

Maybe there aren't such things as good friends or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for, too, if thats what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.

(...) sometimes they come back.

Alene synker jeg ned i trist isolasjon - bare i kommunikasjon med andre kan jeg bli synlig...

Å være jente er som å gå med for små sko. Å være feminist er å forstå at det er ikke føttene som er for store, men at skoene er for små.

Until i feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

People leave strange, little memories of themselves behind when they die.

That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards, like pain. You look at the man one day and you would think, I loved you, and the tense would be past, and you would be filled with a sense of wonder, because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done; and you would know too why your friends had been evasive about it, at the time.

Dystert skjønte hun at klokker ikke kan lage en lyd som har den fjerneste likhet med tikk, takk. Det var som lyden av en hammer opp og ned, som hugger metodisk løs på jorden.

"Alle er dumme når jeg er sur." sto det på en plakat vi hadde hengende på kjøkkenet vårt i mange år. Vi har funnet ut at det stemmer ganske godt.

Jeg kan ikke kjempe Ida's kamp, men jeg kan stå. Jeg kan kan være sterk når hun trenger å hvile, og når hun mister fotfestet, kan jeg være der.

Jeg tumlet meg gjennom gangene og så mennesker overalt: Men jeg var ikke lenger en av dem. Jeg hadde ikke lenger rettigheter. Jeg var usynlig.

Jeg hadde gledet meg til verden der ute i lang tid, hadde sett den for meg i de vakreste farger, tenkt på hvordan den ville føles. Og nå beveget jeg meg som i en innbilt verden. Min virkelighet var bjørketapetet på kjøkkenet, omgivelser jeg visste hvordan jeg skulle bevege meg i. Her ute snublet jeg rundt som om jeg hadde havnet i feil film.

And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they cant ever be fixed, and this is something nobody tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened.

Sometimes you can't realize you're in a bad mood until another person enters your orbit.

The world is filled with stories of these beautiful little creatures who were all supposed to have been part of a fairytale, but who got lost along the way.

Some day you cross this thin line and you really realize that we need to protect ourselves from ourselves.

There are the people of the day, and the creatures of the night. And it is important to remember that the creatures of the night aren't simply the people of the day staying up late because they think that makes them cool and interesting. It takes a lot more than heavy mascara and a pale complextion to cross the divide.

This darkness troubles me. I yearn for the light. This silence is so deep, I long for voices, the drumming of rain, the whistle of wind, music. Whay are you being so cruel to me? Let me see, let me hear, let me live! I beg of you. I am so lonely in this bottomless darkness. So lonely. Lost. You think I have no heart. But if I have no heart what is this ache? What is this anguish? If I have no heart what is it that threatens to break inside me? This darkness is haunted. I am afraid here. I am lost and afraid here. Have you no compassion? I only wanted to be like you. To walk in the sunshine. To swim in the sea. To feel the winter cold against my skin. The summer heat. To smell a rose, newmown grass. To taste an orange, a pear, chocolate cinnamon, peppermint. To feel the texture of a womans skin. I only wanted to share your joys and sorrows, your pleasure and your pain. This darkness extends to infinity in all directions, yet it is as confining as a coffin. You have closed me in a coffin! I have been buried alive. I will go mad here. Have you no compassion?