ragoût

The happiest folk are those that are busy, for their minds are starved of time to seek out woe.

I guess to some extent, you get used to being alone. You get used to not expecting phone calls and having nothing to do at night. You don’t expect to turn around to open arms any longer. The small sounds of him have been replaced by silence. Your thoughts echo through your head, with no one to share them with. All in all, being alone isn’t terrible, it just hurts like hell.

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.

You’re alive. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change.

Life can be magnificent and overwhelming — that is the whole tragedy. Without beauty, love, or danger it would almost be easy to live.

She loved the guy. She did it for him. She would’ve done anything for him. Some people are like that. Some loves are like that. Most loves are like that, from what I can see. Your heart starts to feel like an overcrowded lifeboat. You throw your pride out to keep it afloat, and your self-respect and your independence. After a while you start throwing people out—your friends, everyone you used to know. And it’s still not enough. The lifeboat is still sinking, and you know it’s going to take you down with it. I’ve seen that happen to a lot of people here. I think that’s why I’m sick of love.