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One must not speak of such things. One is still scarred from that experience.
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Sighs and silences and avoided conversations are just as important as the things you do talk about.
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She didn't feel thirty. But then again again, what was being thirty supposed to feel like? When she was younger, thirty seemed so far away, she thought that a woman of that age would be so wise and knowledgeable, so settled in her life with a husband and children and a career. She had none of those things. She still felt as clueless as she had felt when she was twenty, only with a few more gray hairs and crow's feet around her eyes.
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Life is everything, and you haven't lived it properly until you believe.
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Her silence was worth more to her than a thousand words.In that silence,she had peace and clarity.Except during the night,when her own jumbled thoughts would keep her awake.
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This story is about people,secrets and time.About people who, not unlike parcels,hide secrets,who cover themselves with layers until they present themselves to the right ones who can unwrap them and see inside.
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Why do we stop believing in ourselves? Why do we let facts and figures and anything but dreams rule our lives?
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I have found that the many imbalances within our individual lives result in an overall more worldly balance. What I mean is that no matter how unfair I think something is, I need only look at the bigger picture to see how, in a way, it fits... however impossible it is to understand it or see it at the time.
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You can run and run as fast and as far as you like, but the truth is, wherever you run, there you are.
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Yes it's difficult. Yes it's horrible. Yes it's the worst thing that has ever happen in my whole life. But I just can't give up.
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I can’t even think about what life “could have been” like in Boston, without crying. It’s like deja-vu, I don’t think me and Boston were ever meant to be.
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I love it here in Boston and I love studying medicine. But it’s not home. Dublin is home. Being back with you felt like home. I miss my best friend. I’ve met some great guys here, but I didn’t grow up with any of them playing cops and robbers in my back garden. I don’t feel like they are real friends. I haven’t kicked them in the shins, stayed up all night on Santa watch with them, hung from trees pretending to be monkeys, played hotel, or laughed my heart out as their stomachs were pumped. It’s kind of hard to beat that.
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Truth is, something that I thought was perfect was taken away from me, and I never wanted perfect again. I wanted middle of the road, stuff I didn’t care about so that I couldn’t lose anything I really loved ever again.
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He was one of those people who made you feel like they either didn't know or didn't care that you were in the room and if they ever did acknowledge your existence it was bizarrely score one to you, and twenty years later they'd tell you they'd always had a crush on you but never had the courage to say anything and you'd tell them, What? I didn't even think you liked me? and they'd say, Are you crazy? I just never knew what to say!
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Alone or not, you gotta walk forward.
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So now, all alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. Thing to remember is if we're all alone, then we're all together in that too.
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It's not the job of this town to make me feel happy. It's not this town´s fault that I don't feel I fit in. It doesn't matter where you are in the world, because it's about where you are in your head. It's about the other world I inhabit. The world of dreams, hope, imagination, and memories. I'm happy up here, and because of that I'm happy up there too
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There aren’t many sure things in life, but one thing I know for sure is that you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. You have to follow through on some things.
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Often when we realize how precious those seconds are, it's too late for them to be captured because the moment has passed. We realize too late.
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I don't want to be one of those easily forgotten people, so important at the time, so special, so influential, and so treasured, yet years later just a vague face and a distant memory.
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Day-to-day things, the mundane, are what keeps the motor running. How extraordinary the ordinary really is, a tool we all use to keep going, a template for sanity.
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People forget they have options. And they forget that those things really don't matter. They should concentrate on what they have and not what they don't have.
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I always pushed myself. Whenever I felt I needed to stop, I made myself run faster.
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What seems tragic now won't even be an issue in a few years time.