Loneliness is black coffee and late-night television; solitude is herb tea and soft music. Solitude, quality solitude, is an assertion of self-worth, because only in the stillness can we hear the truth of our own unique voices.
Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death
Missing someone has to be one of the worst human emotions. All the other feelings like anger and fear and horror get some much more airplay, as if their intensity gives them more value, but whereas those emotions come in violent bursts and are gone again, the gnawing ache of loss has to be simply endured. It’s like background noise, it’s always there, it never goes away. You just have to try to block it out, distract yourself, hope that tomorrow the hole they left behind has grown a little smaller.
He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.
I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
I think that most people go into bookshops and have no idea what they want to buy. Somehow, the books sit there, almost magically willing people to pick them up. The right person for the right book. It’s as though they already know whose life they need to be a part of, how they can make a difference, how they can teach a lesson, put a smile on a face at just the right time.
You shouldn’t try to stop everything from happening. Sometimes you’re supposed to feel awkward. Sometimes you’re supposed to be vulnerable in front of people. Sometimes it’s necessary because it’s all part of you getting to the next part of yourself, the next day.
Чувствам се като падналия самолет. Унищожена.
Чувствам се като слона, изяден от змията. Погълната.
Чувствам се като вулкана, който ще изригне. Нетърпелива.
Но аз съм и Малкият принц, който иска да опитоми лисицата. Аз съм лисицата, която успява да се довери на някого независимо от цената.
Но ужасно се боя от ухапването на змията.
What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell
you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and
seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you
wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t.
You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And
you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are —
underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of
you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your
mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five.
And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like
if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and
needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings
inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the
other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.