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Alone. The saddest word in the world.
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Like usual, what I want is not important, what I’m supposed to do that counts.
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How is it possible for me to be so miserable and embarrassed and humiliated and beaten an function still talk and smile and concentrate?
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One day I'll be old, without ever having really been young.
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What do you know about love? Are your feelings more holy than mine? Am I exempt from the knowledge of love until I become “of age?” Do I automatically become human enough when I start loving you and seeing things your way?
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I'm afraid to live and afraid to die.
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I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Lewis G Carroll was on drugs too.
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I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.
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Sometimes fantasies are better than life.
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Actually I don’t need the sleep as much as I need the escape. It’s a wonderful way to escape. I think I can’t stand it and then I just take a pill and wait for sweet nothingness to take over. At this stage in my life nothingness is a lot better than somethingness.
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I'm partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we're all trying to be shadows of each other, trying to buy the same records and everything even if we don't like them. Kids are like robots, off an assembly line, and I don't want to be a robot!
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Everyone is trying to get attention but intelligent persons get theirs by doing something worthwhile, beneficial to himself and the community.
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I pretend I've got lots of confidence and I'm a big jock and like that but deep inside I'm a frightened, insecure, can't-make-it failure.
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The voice of every kid hooked on drugs, alcohol or the occult joins the sad chorus "Not me! I didn't think it could ever happen to me. I was sure I could handle it.
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…I’d have died without them books. Even now I’m not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I’ve gotten from books.
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I wanted to write in you.
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Then there’s me… non-relevant, non-predicable… ass-headed.
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How can thoughts hurt so much when they aren't even physical?
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Depressed? No one in the world but a doper could know the true opposite of depressed.
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Maybe the new me will be different.