I became skilled at covering my tracks, filling in the blanks. Sometimes the blanks were never filled. At other times, I would recall places where I had been or things I had done as if from a dream, which made the playback of my father and other men ...
In other words, I have tried to learn in my writing a monastic lesson I could probably not have learned otherwise: to let go of my idea of myself, to take myself with more than one grain of salt... In religious terms, this is simply a matter of accep...
Help!" This was my last cry. My mouth filled with water, I struggled against being drawn the abyss. Suddenly my clothes were seized by a strong hand, and I felt myself quickly drawn up to the surface of the sea; and I heard, yes, I heard these words ...
I had to work so hard to find myself again, Alexandr." There was pain in her voice. "I was so lost without you. You left me raw and wounded and trapped in a dark place with no windows or doors. I didn't know how to live without you. I didn't know how...
Wrong Question: How to love? Right Question: Why am I afraid to love? Wrong Question: Why do you love me? Right Question: Do I love myself as much as you do? Wrong Question: Why does love hurt? Right Question: Why do I live in fantasies and expect so...
once upon a time I would’ve killed to feel numb, like I do now. I would have reveled in the abyss of emptiness that fills my heart. the fear of the unknown would’ve made me want to kill myself. again. but now I feel nothing. I’ve been stripped ...
It is true that we instinctively recoil from seeing an object to which our emotions and affections are committed handled by the intellect as any other object is handled. The first thing the intellect does with an object is to class it along with some...
Aw, c'mon. She purred, her breath warm in my ear. "You you wanna..." God, she was slurring. She smelled like beer. I'd never been to turned on in my life. I thought to myself. Nina smiled lazily up at me, grasping my hands and guiding them to her sle...
Alone with thoughts of what should have long been forgotten, I let myself be carried away into the silent screams of delirium.
There is a universal respect and even admiration for those who are humble and simple by nature, and who have absolute confidence in all human beings irrespective of their social status.
Fools have a habit of believing that everything written by a famous author is admirable. For my part I read only to please myself and like only what suits my taste.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
I always feared finding myself thinking about all the things I could have done, about all the things I was so close to doing.
One look at you, and I said to myself: this is a man who can bring you some peace...
You see I kept asking myself then: why am I so stupid that if others are stupid—and I know they are—yet I won't be wiser?
Just because I've gone and snagged myself a hot boyfriend doesn't mean I'm going to leave my bestfriend high and dry.
Since I am never alone with myself. Since I am always watching the character playing my part in the scene, there is no possibility of spontaneity.
Hell didn't make me a monster. It just confirmed all my worst fears about myself.
Why do I write? Because I like telling stories and I don't like repeating myself (insert chuckle here).
I hated myself for needing him at such times, for craving his strength whenever I felt upset.
I have ridden out all the storms,” said Shakespeare, “even the ones I wrote myself. Here, look, it begins…
