It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined.
“God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of "parties" with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter - they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long. Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship - but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.”
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“Just because I ask for advice, it doesn’t mean I’m going to take it. But people get so offended. They take it so personally. It’s as if there’s an unspoken obligation that because they put in the time and went to the trouble, it feels like a rejection. Went to the trouble of what? Talking?”
― It Could Be Worse, You Could Be Me
― It Could Be Worse, You Could Be Me
“Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realise that nothing really belongs to them.”
―
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“If you teach people that something as deep inside them as their very personality is either a source of unimaginable shame or unmentionable sin, and if you tell them that their only ethical direction is either the suppression of that self in a life of suffering or a life of meaningless promiscuity followed by eternal damnation, then it is perhaps not surprising that their moral and sexual behavior becomes wildly dichotic; that it veers from compulsive activity to shame and withdrawal; or that it becomes anesthetized by drugs or alcohol or fatally distorted by the false, crude ideology of easy prophets. A”
― Love Undetectable: Notes on Friendship, Sex, and Survival
― Love Undetectable: Notes on Friendship, Sex, and Survival
“How … ?” she began, and she stopped. She was too tired. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to say the rest of the sentence, that Billy would finish it for her. But Billy had no idea what was on her mind. “How what, Mother?” he prompted. She swallowed hard, shed some tears. Then she gathered energy from all over her ruined body, even from her toes and fingertips. At last she had accumulated enough to whisper this complete sentence: “How did I get so old?”
― Slaughterhouse-Five
― Slaughterhouse-Five
Mohammed’s 2025 Year in Books
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