You do not follow me because I am the strongest. Pax is. You do not follow me because I am the brightest. Mustang is. You follow me because you do not know where you are going. I do.
You put me through hell. On purpose. Made me suffer. And there’s no end in sight. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, ace, but this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde shit ain’t cutting it with me.
He turns back to me, a strong hand swooping down and sculpting hair off my face, familiar looking arms curling back around me and cradling me into a chest harder and hotter than a mountain left baking in the Australian outback.
So many people hate me and love me for the exact same reasons. This is all the proof I need that my opinion about myself is the only opinion I should ever care about.
My aloneness had never bothered me; I hadn't even been aware of it. But now it overwhelmed me. The awareness washed over me with painful sharpness and deep grief. Now that I had company.
Follow me, reader! Who told you that there is no true, faithful, eternal love in this world! May the liar's vile tongue be cut out! Follow me, my reader, and me alone, and I will show you such a love!
Beshrew your eyes, They have o'erlook'd me and divided me; One half of me is yours, the other half yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
If you chose my clone over me, you chose me over me. So I’d get chosen, and I’d get rejected.
And when I came in with tears in my eyes, you always knew whether I needed you to hold me or just let me be. I don't know how you knew, but you did, and you made it easier for me.
Maybe, because all these good people loved me enough to help me, maybe I wasn't quite as bad as I felt. Maybe there was a part of me that was worthy of their love.
Tell me there’s a God, and I’ll believe you. But tell me you’re not in love with me, and I’ll shoot you an incredulous look. Then I’ll shoot you.
Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.
I’m tired of calling @PapaJohns. I wish they’d call me for once. I’m starting to think they don’t love me.
The narrator analyzes that the maturing, passing away boy within him, "had issued me a challenge as he passed the baton to the man in me: He had challenged me to have the courage to become a gentle, harmless man.
For a moment, Blake said nothing. After chewing on her venom for a moment, he shrugged. “I would rather you hate me for who I am than love me for who I’m not.
I remembered my father telling me when I was a little girl, "Guilt is bullshit. Don't ever let anyone make you feel guilty.
Samantha reminds me of the difference between what is illusion and what is real. I am reminded whenever I forget that we choose our truth and whether to embrace it or not.
I am a single note, a tone that peals in the wind. I am in the magic of the moment and then he returns, flowing toward me around the thick immense bark of the Sequoia.
You hardly know me. Why do you want me to come with you?" "Who knows? Perhaps you remind me just a bit of—" "Someone you used to know?" Alec interjected skeptically. "Someone I used to .
The next time you're mad at me, talk to me,' he said. 'Don't shut me out. I don't like playing games. And by the way, I had a great time, too.
Mentor Me: ...the crossroads and convergence of where science, metaphysics, religion, and utopian society intersect.
