Nous sommes tous seuls, nés seuls, mourons seuls et, malgré les magazines True Romance, nous regarderons tous un jour en arrière sur nos vies et verrons que, malgré notre compagnie, nous étions seuls tout le long du chemin. Je ne dis pas solitaire – du moins, pas tout le temps – mais essentiellement, et finalement, seuls. C’est ce qui rend votre estime de soi si…
I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.
The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.
It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.
I finally understood what true love meant…love meant that you care for another person’s happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.
When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.
You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.
Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got…
Everything you can imagine is real.
Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold . . . The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.
I dream. Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.
These woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.
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