Love: the sickest of Irony’s sick jokes. The place where logic and order go to die.
Would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?
I’m not brave any more darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me.
If you think anyone is sane you just don’t know enough about them.
Today is declared an unscheduled holiday.
…but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else’s. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain’t that something? A secondhand lonely.
We even make ourselves up, fusing what we are with what we wish into what we must become. I’m not sure why it must be so, but it is.
What was God thinking when he created a guy this handsome? He wasn’t a gift to womankind, he was a torture device.
‘That proves you are unusual,’ returned the Scarecrow; ‘and I am convinced that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a tree, and live and die unnoticed.’
(L. Frank Baum)
Flirting with madness was one thing; when madness started flirting back, it was time to call the whole thing off.
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement.
Go then if you must, but remember, no matter how foolish your deeds, those who love you will love you still.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
There is nothing to fear except the power you give to your own demons.