Jaclyn

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Clariel
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by Garth Nix (Goodreads Author)
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The Legend of Huma
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by Richard A. Knaak (Goodreads Author)
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Lies My Teacher T...
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Jaclyn is currently reading
Clariel by Garth Nix
Clariel (Abhorsen, #4)
by Garth Nix (Goodreads Author)
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Canticle by R.A. Salvatore
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Stories of the Raksura, Volume 1 by Martha Wells
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The Children of the Sky by Vernor Vinge
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To Your Scattered Bodies Go by Philip José Farmer
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Stories of the Raksura, Volume 1 by Martha Wells
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The Serpent Sea by Martha Wells
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The Siren Depths by Martha Wells
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The Cloud Roads by Martha Wells
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The Martian by Andy Weir
The Martian
by Andy Weir (Goodreads Author)
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More of Jaclyn's books…
Sylvia Plath
“Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whore red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly
....
Oh my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers”
Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath
“How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?”
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Stephen Fry
“No adolescent ever wants to be understood, which is why they complain about being misunderstood all the time.”
Stephen Fry, Moab Is My Washpot

Stephen Fry
“The short answer to that is 'no.' The long answer is 'fuck no.”
Stephen Fry

Elizabeth Wurtzel
“Some catastrophic moments invite clarity, explode in split moments: You smash your hand through a windowpane and then there is blood and shattered glass stained with red all over the place; you fall out a window and break some bones and scrape some skin. Stitches and casts and bandages and antiseptic solve and salve the wounds. But depression is not a sudden disaster. It is more like a cancer: At first its tumorous mass is not even noticeable to the careful eye, and then one day -- wham! -- there is a huge, deadly seven-pound lump lodged in your brain or your stomach or your shoulder blade, and this thing that your own body has produced is actually trying to kill you. Depression is a lot like that: Slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build into your system, making life feel more and more unbearable. But you won't even notice it coming on, thinking that it is somehow normal, something about getting older, about turning eight or turning twelve or turning fifteen, and then one day you realize that your entire life is just awful, not worth living, a horror and a black blot on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up afraid you are going to live.

In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead. The actual dying part, the withering away of my physical body, was a mere formality. My spirit, my emotional being, whatever you want to call all that inner turmoil that has nothing to do with physical existence, were long gone, dead and gone, and only a mass of the most fucking god-awful excruciating pain like a pair of boiling hot tongs clamped tight around my spine and pressing on all my nerves was left in its wake.

That's the thing I want to make clear about depression: It's got nothing at all to do with life. In the course of life, there is sadness and pain and sorrow, all of which, in their right time and season, are normal -- unpleasant, but normal. Depression is an altogether different zone because it involves a complete absence: absence of affect, absence of feeling, absence of response, absence of interest. The pain you feel in the course of a major clinical depression is an attempt on nature's part (nature, after all, abhors a vacuum) to fill up the empty space. But for all intents and purposes, the deeply depressed are just the walking, waking dead.

And the scariest part is that if you ask anyone in the throes of depression how he got there, to pin down the turning point, he'll never know. There is a classic moment in The Sun Also Rises when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt, and all he can say in response is, 'Gradually and then suddenly.' When someone asks how I love my mind, that is all I can say too”
Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

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