Sam

“I take a longer look at the words on her headstone.
Brave, kind, loyal, sweet, loving, graceful, strong, thoughtful, funny, genuine, hopeful, playful, insightful, and on and on…
Was she, though? Was she any of those things? The words make me angry. I can’t look at them any longer.
Why do we romanticize the dead? Why can’t we be honest about them?”
― Jennette McCurdy, I'm Glad My Mom Died

“Why do we romanticize the dead? Why can't we be honest about them? Especially moms. They're the most romanticized of anyone.

Moms are saints, angels by merely existing. NO ONE could possibly understand what it's like to be a mom. Men will never understand. Women with no children will never understand. No one buts moms know the hardship of motherhood, and we non-moms must heap nothing but praise upon moms because we lowly, pitiful non-moms are mere peasants compared to the goddesses we call mothers.”
― Jennette McCurdy, I'm Glad My Mom Died

“I'd rather be a pig than a fascist”
― Hayao Miyazaki, Art of Porco Rosso

“I don’t talk about my mom often. Whenever I do, my heart hurts in a way that nothing can really help. Like there’s this hole drilled into the center of my soul, an unending pit that keeps going and going, tempting me to fall in and get lost in the echo of who she was. Because she’s gone now.”
― Ashley Poston, Bookish and the Beast