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I’m just a man working with those society wants to forget.
I give them the one thing they’ve been craving since coming to the Asylum: an audience.
I thought I could make a difference and that what I did was meaningful. I was stupid to think anything in life was worth this shit.
death doesn’t care who you are, what you’ve done, or how you’ve lived your life.
He’s one of the few I’ve been waiting for years to hear his confession. I know in my bones that he’s never told the full truth of what he’s done.
“Turns out I was holding on to something that was never there.” I hear everything he doesn’t say in his tone. The heartbreak is real.
What would you hear if Death were beside you, whispering to you?
I think Death has many faces, many voices, and it all depends on the person you are, and what you've done with your life.
Girls are fanciful creatures. The thoughts and feelings they experience daily would be exhausting for us men.
She’d done what those assholes couldn’t do. She survived the destruction.
He was a hard man, my Daddy. He lived a hard life, and the hand he raised me with was just as hard.
"The only time you ever see a person's true character, who they really are, is right before they die. Anytime you judge a person before seeing their true self, you're robbing yourself of an opportunity.
If I wasn't someone people came to in the hard times, then I was living my life wrong.
“Oh honey, by the time you reach my age, all you’ll have done is say goodbye. Practice doesn’t make perfect. It never gets easy; you just learn to handle your grief better.”
So even if your existence seems isolated and unadventurous, if you do well with the life you've been given, then it's well-lived.
Rarely are you given second chances, real second chances, but when you do, when they present themselves to you, you need to figure out if the strings attached are worth the price.
It's similar to being a reader - that addictiveness you feel to get lost within the pages of a book, within the characters of a story. You still live, but through the experiences and words of others.
That’s something no one should ever tell another parent. Never tell someone who grieves that their heart will heal.
Grief is an ugly monster, one with tentacles that never let go.
But you can’t look back on life and live on the ‘what ifs’.
That’s not how life works. If you live with regrets, then you’re not truly living. You’re reacting in order to not live with more regrets.
