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.
Jeg har lest ferdig to Augusten Burroughs bøker de to siste ukene. Dry og Running With Scissors, begge like fantastiske på hver sin måte. Jeg vet ikke om jeg hater Augusten fordi han får meg til å gråte og bli totalt oppslukt i livet hans, kun for å ta det vekk fra meg, eller om jeg elsker han fordi han gjør akkurat det. Alt jeg kan si er at jeg begynner på Wolf At The Table ganske snart, enda en bok av han, og at jeg anbefaler han på det aller, aller sterkeste.
Edit: Jeg har nå, offisielt, lest alt som er blitt publisert av han. Jeg kunne ikke elsket han mer.
Fantastisk bok, fantastisk forfatter. Hver setning virket mer levende enn den forrige.
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».
Jeg har ikke klart å rive meg vekk fra denne, og jeg klarer ikke å bearbeide sorgen over å være ferdig med den. Denne sitter fortsatt fast i meg. Den er utrolig, utrolig vakker. Anbefaler den sterkt.
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.
De har en suveren forakt for siste mote i klesveien. Som de selv sier: "Hvilken rolle spiller klærne her i Cranford hvor alle kjenner oss?" Og skal de noen gang utenfor byen, heter det like overbevisende: "Hvilken rolle spiller klærne her hvor ingen kjenner oss?"
Vil ikke kalle dette "horror", jeg vil kalle det en kjærlighetshistorie.
Anyways, uansett hvor mange ganger jeg leser denne boka virker det som om den aldri slipper taket. Det er ikke uten grunn at det er millionvis av poster på House Of Leaves-forumet.
I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.