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Her er jeg anonym. Ingen kjenner meg som den jeg var tidligere, eller fortiden min. Her er det ingen som vil meg vondt. Jeg har aldri opplevd det før. Det er veldig godt.
Traumer. De tar aldri pause. Hviler ikke. De følger deg, innhenter deg selv om årene går, tiår. Fortiden er ikke død.
Hun så det ingen andre gjorde, handlet slik ingen andre gjorde. Kanskje det var fordi hun var utenfra, uten bindinger til lokalsamfunnet.
En venn er en som kan sangen i ditt hjerte og som kan synge den for deg når du selv har glemt ordene.
Hva hadde hun uten pappa? Ingenting. Hun hadde ingenting med pappa heller, men da var hun i alle fall ikke alene. Mamma klarte ikke å være alene.
All that beauty, it’s wrapped around loneliness. You think I didn’t taste it? You’re practically hollow.
In the past, he had told her that all he ever wanted was the truth, as plain as she could make it.
So you are a child of love. It seems right, that you were made by love.’ She had never thought of herself in that way, but after he said it, it struck her as a fine thing, to have been made by love.
[He] broke away. It was quick as shattering – a lurch and he was up, leaving behind the jagged edges of the moment.
Her ignorance was like standing in pure dark that could be either a closet or a vast, starless night.
Long life is a burden, when it’s spent in misery.
‘Beauty,’ Brimstone had scoffed once. ‘Humans are fools for it. As helpless as moths who hurl themselves at fire.’
After she had cried, she felt at once hollow and . . . better, as if the salt of all her unshed tears had been poisoning her, and now she was cleansed.
Like mold on books, grow myths on history.
Have you ever asked yourself, do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?
The snow-laden trees watch me, uncaring and indifferent, as my world goes up in invisible flames.
I feel hands ghost over my head, my back, shades of unformed comfort. She doesn’t know what to do, but she’s still trying. I wipe the tears away and sniff. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep.” I expect her to argue, to chime something happy and insist on staying up with me. She drops her hand and glides back to her bed without another word. It’s better than comfort. It’s respect - for my words, for my need to cry in peace, alone and in the dark.