Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
There is, in the end, the letting go.
People take the feeling of full for granted.
I'm a driven perfectionist, very self-critical.
...painfully curious...about how it feels to fall.
So many means of self-destruction, so little time.
Hatred is so much closer to love than indifference.
I began to measure things in absence instead of presence.
After a lifetime of silence, it is difficult then to speak.
Children take in more information than we'd like to believe.
When you deal with nonfiction you deal with human characters.
You can only whine for so long. Then you need to get your life back.
For me, the first sign of oncoming madness is that I'm unable to write.
The biggest fear of my life is living. My second biggest fear is dying.
That’s the nice thing about dreams, the way you wake up before you fall.
There is, in fact, an incredible freedom in having nothing left to lose.
I know for a fact that sickness is easier, but health is more interesting.
In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it.
And yet you are all that you have, so you must be enough. There is no other way.
The fact that you were essentially dead does not register until you begin to come alive.
Having a normal person around me made it poingnantly clear to me that I was out of control.
Some people who are obsessed with food become gourmet chefs. Others become eating disorders.
We turn skeletons into goddesses and look to them as if they might teach us how not to need.
Falling in love happens so suddenly that it seems, all at once, that you have always been in love.
I get absolutely shitfaced. I am shitfaced and hyper and ten years old. I am having the time of my life.
The madness is there, and will always be there. But it will keep sleeping, as long as I don't wake it up.
You will miss her sometimes. Bear in mind she's trying to kill you. Bear in mind you have a life to live.
I grew into it. It grew into me. It and I blurred at the edges, became one amorphous, seeping, crawling thing.
That nothing - not booze, not love, not sex, not work, not moving from state to state - will make the past disappear.
The joy is an absurd yellow tulip, popping up in my life, contradicting all the evidence that shows it should not be there.
My parents say that even as a very, very little kid, the way that I acted was dramatically different from other little kids.
The anoretic operates under the astounding illusion that she can escape the flesh, and, by association, the realm of emotions.
I think many people with a chronic illness would prefer not to have their chronic illness, simply because it's high maintenance.
You can't teach an ear, you can't teach talent, but you can teach people who have those things not to just fly by the seat of their pants.
...Someone speaks in soft tones to me and says I am psychotic, but it's going to be all right. I put on my hat, unperturbed, and ask for some crayons.
Madness strips you of memory and leaves you scrabbling around on the floor of your brain for the snatches and snippets of what happened, what was said, and when.
My brain sometimes departs from the agreed-upon reality, and my private reality is a very lonely place. But in the end, I'm not sure I wish I'd never gone there.
The term “starvation diet” refers to 900 calories a day. I was on one-third of a starvation diet. What do you call that? One word that comes to my mind: “suicide.
It is, at the most basic level, a bundle of contradictions: a desire for power that strips you of all power. A gesture of strength that divests you of all strength.
When you are mad, mad like this, you don't know it. Reality is what you see. When what you see shifts, departing from anyone else's reality, it's still reality to you.
I mean, we all know the dangers of starving, but bulimia? That can't be that bad. It's only bad when you get really thin. Who worries about bulimics? They're just gross.
Never, never underestimate the power of desire. If you want to live badly enough, you can live. The great question, at least for me, was: How do I decide I want to live?
I wish I could find words to explain what this kind of cold is like- the cold that has somehow gotten in underneath your skin and is getting colder and colder inside you.
You wake up one morning and there it is, sitting in an old plaid bathrobe in your kitchen, unpleasant and unshaved. You look at it, heart sinking. Madness is a rotten guest.
But new love only lasts so long, and then you crash back into the real people you are, and from as high as we were, it's a very long fall, and we hit the ground with a thud.
Me and my needs were driving my mother away. Me and my needs retreated to my closet, disappeared into fairy tales. I started making up a world where my needs wouldn´t exist at all.
All of us have theories about the world and about ourselves. We will go to great lengths to prove ourselves right because it keeps the world in our head coherent and understandable.
My students know I have a life, they know I've written about my life. They know some detail, probably more than they know about their physics teacher, but I would've told them anyway!
My bones are brittle, my heart weak and erratic, my esophagus and stomach riddled with ulcers, my reproductive system shot, my immune system useless... I'm not going to have a happy ending.
I have a remarkable ability to delete all better judgement from my brain when I get my head set on something. I have no sense of moderation, no sense of caution. I have no sense pretty much.
He leaned down and whispered to me: No matter how thin you get, no matter how short you cut your hair, it's still going to be you underneath. And he let go of my arm and walked back down the hall.