"Nenia Campbell"の名言

We feel most alive when we are closest to death.

All statistics have outliers.

Nobody wants to believe that existence carries on without at least taking a stumble from their departure of this world.

What do you want to do with your life, then?” is often the question I'm asked. To be honest, I don't know. I really don't. Mainly because I don't see myself living long enough for that to make much of a difference.

Fairytales by nature only talk about the victors. The survivors. Nobody speaks about what happens to those who failed, except in the abstract: as cautionary tales to guide others onto the path to success. How many brave knights fell to the dragon before he was slayed by the noble prince? How many children burned to a crisp and eaten before the wicked witch received her due? These stories are lost, but the lesson behind them is not: it is not enough to be merely pure and good.

Once a flower is picked it immediately begins to die.

Death was not the scariest thing out there; no, the denial of it could be far worse.

Happiness is such a fragile thing, isn't it? So easily burst, like a bubble blown by a child, and always on the verge of being carried away.

Humanity is a cage, and our puritanical sensibilities comprise the bars. We are confined by our own reason and intellect, and yet most of us don't even know it.

Why did this keep happening? Why her? Perhaps there was some pheromone certain people omitted, perceivable only on a wavelength unique to those individuals who preyed on them.

He was everything your mother warned you about when she told you not to walk alone in the dark.

If you don't feel the same way about him, if you're just leading him on, you need to tell him that. I've seen too many nice guys get shafted because a girl can't get over some jerk.

'Better to have loved and lost,' my ass. Anyone parroting that little platitude had obviously never lost anyone of consequence.

You want to be free. You also want to be mine. You can't be both.

There were things one could do, things so terrible, Val was certain they could make someone stop loving you. She was equally certain that she had done some of these things, and as desperate as she was to be proven otherwise, she was equally afraid that she was right. That she had become as awful as the rest of the world seemed to think she was. That she was unlovable.