Bokelskere.no

But I'm not mourning. I'm accusing them, Why did you? They chose it, they had control over their death, they decided it was time to leave and they left, they set up this barrier. They didn't consider how I would feel, who would take care of me. I'm furious because they let it happen.

They're avoiding me, they find me inappropriate, they think I should be filled with death, I should be in mourning.

A faked album, the memories fraudulent as passports; but a paper house was better than none and I could almost live in it, I'd lived in it until now.

He didn't love me, it was an idea of himself he loved and he wanted someone to join him, anyone would do.

The Eskimoes had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them, there ought to be as many for love

If it had happened to me I would have felt there was something special about me, to be raised from the dead like that; I would have returned with secrets, I would have known things most people didn't.

When you can't tell the difference between your own pleasure and your pain then you're an addict