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If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character…Would you slow down? Or speed up?
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You know how they say you only hurt the ones you love? Well, it works both ways.
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Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.
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The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person.
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No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That’s how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice.
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The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.
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You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We’re all part of the same compost heap. We’re all singing, all dancing crap of the world.
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We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will.
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A girl calls and asks, “Does it hurt very much to die?” “Well, sweetheart,” I tell her, “yes, but it hurts a lot more to keep living.
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The things you used to own, now they own you.
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What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody that will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.
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When we don’t know who to hate, we hate ourselves.
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