Crushes are so awful. I wonder if they suck worse for the crush-er or the crush-ee. I consider my three years of watching Josh from afar. Yeah, definitely the crush-er.
Convincing a leader of the value of front-line ideas alone is rarely enough for that person to overcome years of entrenched bad habits and to change his management style.
Later, when you're grown up, you realize you never really get to hang out with your family. You pretty much have only eighteen years to spend with them full time, and that's it.
If it weren’t for the fact that he’d been flat on his back in a full body cast, then recovering, he probably would be glad he missed finishing the school year since it meant he’s now enrolled at his version of Hogwarts.
The future of our relationship hinged on advice from a fifteen-year old girl, a probably untrue story from a one-eyed Chihuahua trainer, and me unromantically – yet skillfully – kissing you on top of silverware and china?
And now I am here, as alone as I've ever been. I am seventeen years old. This is not how it's suppose to be. This is not how my life is suppose to turn out.
I'm thinking the reason I've been so quiet all those years is only because Brian wasn't around yet for me to tell everything to.
This is what I want: I want to grab my brother's hand and run back through time, losing years like coats falling from our shoulders.
The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years–if it ever did end–began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.
I understood what he was doing, that he had spent four years fulfilling the absurd and tedious duty of graduating from college and now he was emancipated from that world of abstraction, false security, parents, and material excess.
You come from your mauma, you sleep in the bed with her till you're near twenty years grown, and you still don't know what haunches in the dark corners of her.
If you tell an eight-year-old she has a talent for something, she'll never give it a rest.
Fozzy was slowly realising his mistake of not having taken his friends words of warning more serious all those years ago. 'She's an expensive filly, with double standards,' he had said. Fozzy had not listened.
Maybe he was overwhelmed, like I am overwhelmed, by that mysterious intersection where love meets luck, where fate meets will. Because he'd been waiting for her. And there she was.
You know how they say that if you think you might be going crazy, it’s proof that you’re not? Well, it’s a lie. One of many they tell you about mental illness.
The child is father of the man….attributed to Sigmund Freud, but believed to have been coined by a well-known poet years before Freud's time
...When a man first awakens, it sometimes takes several moments before he starts thinking clearly." "And here I thought it took several years, perhaps a lifetime for the average man's intellect to kick in.
Part of me was slightly pissed off that this kiss with him hadn’t happened sooner. As in years ago sooner. Because this one little kiss—it literally rocked my world. He was morphine and I was an instant addict.
The only way your child will grow out of their dependency into self-sufficient adults is for you to essentially abandon your own independence for 20 years or so.
She was eight years old, with the body of a child, but her spirit was weighed down by an adult suffering.
She was clothed entirely in two large swatches of leather, the leather fake and shiny in a self-mocking way, absolutely correct for 1993, the first year when mocking the mainstream had become the mainstream.
