❝ She cried a little, but only inside, because long ago she had decided she didn’t like crying because if you ever started to cry it seemed as if there was so much to cry about you almost couldn’t stop, and she didn’t like that at all.
❝ If you’re reading this, if there’s air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren’t finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are still going, you and I. We are stories still going.
Praat met mij en doe dat
honderduit, vertel me zwijgend
waarover een leven gaat
hoeveel tederheid er nodig is
en adem gulzig tot het eind
spreek dit lichaam zonder
een spoor van schroom, spreek
het, spel het volledig uit
laat me duizelen breng me
in totale ademnood geef je
eindelijk helemaal bloot
❝ I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others - the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. he would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping…
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated (via seabois)
❝ I can be honest. I can tell her how lonely I am. How I spend my life wondering why I never seem to have healthy, happy relationships. How I probably wouldn’t know a healthy, happy relationship if it jumped on my head and knocked me sideways.
And she listens to me quietly, and then thinks about it, and finally tells me why these men aren’t right for me, and that one day someone will come along who will fall in love with me, and that the trick is to stop looking and that it will happen when I least expect it.
Which is all very well for her to say, and it’s probably true, but how am I supposed to stop looking when it’s the one thing I want more than anything else in the world? Well, other than winning the lottery, I suppose, but only because it would increase my pulling power a thousandfold. But seriously, I’ve never understood all that rubbish that married women tell you about not looking, because how can you not look when you’re looking, and how can you really be happy on your own when you’re not?
❝ The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you were desperate for me to save her. Your mind will believe comforting lies while also knowing the painful truths that make those lies necessary. And your mind will punish you for believing both.
❝ The things that go unsaid, don’t go unsaid. They get shoved into your gut like rusty knives.