"I’ll read my books and I’ll drink coffee and I’ll listen to music, and I’ll bolt the door."
"As adults, we try to develop the character traits that would have rescued our parents."
"The only darkness we should allow into our lives is the night, and even then, we have the moon."
- Warsan Shire, from “What We Have,” in Poetry Review (v. 102, no. 4, 2012)
"I almost said, you’re not broken, you’re just going through something. But I couldn’t. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the way inside. She was like a big diamond with a dead spot in the middle. I was supposed to breathe life into that dead spot, but it hadn’t worked."
"I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really."
"I live in you, in your bones; the delicate coils of your mind. I made you. I formed the thoughts you find, the moods you carry. Your blood whispers my name. Even in rebellion, you are mine."
"I’m scared I’m going to spend the rest of my life in a state of yearning, regardless of where I am."
"I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it."
"It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any."
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment."
"My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude."
"For myself, I have no aim. I have no ambition. I will let myself be carried on by the general impulse. The surface of my mind slips along like a pale-grey stream reflecting what passes. I cannot remember my past, my nose, or the colour of my eyes, or what my general opinion of myself is. Only in moments of emergency, at a crossing, at a kerb, the wish to preserve my body springs out and seizes me and stops me, here, before this omnibus. We insist, it seems, on living. Then again, indifference descends. The roar of the traffic, the passage of undifferentiated faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the features from faces. People might walk through me. And, what is this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar – forest trees or the roar of wild beasts. Time has whizzed back an inch or two on its reel; our short progress has been cancelled. I think also that our bodies are in truth naked. We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence."
"Why must they grow up and lose it all?"
- Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse