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See, this is the way I see it. Not all anger is the same. Because there are different kids of anger. And you know what else - sometimes, anger is a virtue. As long as you're not making someone bleed.
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I wish I didn’t have a heart that God wrote Sad on.
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See, I think there are roads that lead us to each other. But in my family, there were no roads - just underground tunnels. I think we all got lost in those underground tunnels. No, not lost. We just lived there.
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I don't always have to understand the people I love.
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I want to gather up all the words in the world and write them down on little pieces of paper—then throw them in the air. They would look like tiny sparrows flying toward the sun. Without all those words, the sky would be clear and perfect and blue. The deafening world would be beautiful in all that silence.
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He drags it out of her, all those feelings she has.
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I've learned a few things about ugly memories--they shoot through the heart like a bullet that maims and disfigures. A bullet that doesn't have the decency to kill.
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And being alone made me want to talk to someone my own age. Someone who understood that using the "f" word wasn't a measure of my lack of imagination. Sometimes using that word just made me feel free.
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I’m fighting myself. I know I am. One minute I want to remember. The next minute I want to live in the land of forgetting. One minute I want to feel. The next minute I never want to feel ever again.
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Mom had told me about that—she called it a dangerous light. It’s beautiful to look at, but it blinds people, she said, that kind of light. It’s not good to be out in it.
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It could happen anytime. The finger tightens, pulls, and a bullet goes flying through the air. That's how remembering is.
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But what really bugged the living crap out of me was that my mother had more friends than I did. How saw was that?
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Grief was a terrible and beautiful thing.
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I hated when Rafael said he hated himself. Sometimes he would say something like that. I just didn’t like hearing that. Why would he want to hate himself? Okay, people don’t really want to hate themselves. I get that. It comes from somewhere deep inside and getting to that place is hard as hell. I get that too. This is my theory: the people who shouldn’t hate themselves, do hate themselves. And the people who should hate themselves, don’t hate themselves. The world is all backwards. See, this is one of the many reasons why God and I are not good friends.
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Everywhere you went, you left something behind. Maybe someday he would come back and get it.
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I think of their anger as a wind. And that wind took them away. From me. And all the others like me.
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I think there are a lot of things that find a hiding place in our bodies.
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But how did you freeze a heart, the days and weeks and months that made a life?
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You’re such a school teacher.
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I knew what he was saying, and I wished to God he was someone else, someone who didn't have to say things out loud.
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Patience is a gift you have to work for.
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There's nothing ordinary about you. Nothing ordinary at all.
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I have always felt terrible inside. The reasons for this keep changing.
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Maybe kissing was part of the human condition.