Too many adults wish to 'protect' teenagers when they should be stimulating them to read of life as it is lived.
You can't make a fan of everyone. Stay true to your story, characters, music, art or whatever it is you do and fuck everyone else who doesn't like it. Life isn't perfect.
I tell ya what, hon. People are the fun- house mirrors of your life. Some make you tall, some make you wide. Some make you see double or twist you into somethin’ you can’t recognize. Not even that one regular mirror will show your true self. The thing is, all of them images are your true self.
They say love is blind...but it isn't. Love is perfect sight. Love is the ability to see a person, I mean really see him-his strengths, his weaknesses, his flaws, all his past triumphs and mistakes-and view that person not as the world says you're supposed to see him, but as you see him-as that special someone you know you will always embrace, body and soul, no matter what anyone else says or thinks I know I can't tell anyone what I've been through. I know they wouldn't understand. They don't see him the way that I see him. All they know is the legend, the darkness. They don't know the inner beauty, the warmth and the joy more intense than anything I ever thought was possible to experience. They don't know the truth behind the name. My angel. My only. Lucifer.
It’s like he’s picking up parts of the world and showing them to me, saying, See? It’s beautiful.
I reached down and picked up a baseball bat at my feet and I flung it as hard as it could. It circled and arced high in the air until it slammed against the side of the dining hall with a crack and fell. I sat down in the dirt. Then I lay down in the dirt. Because not only was there no trail to follow, there was no evidence he’d ever been here. There was no evidence any of them had been here.
It doesn’t hurt much. I don’t know how it looks” – he lowered his hand and turned his face to the side – “but it can’t be that bad. What do you think? You’d date me, right?” Alex pushed him away, grinning. “You’re an idiot.
Your poetry--it doesn't deserve to be locked away, hidden from the rest of the world. And neither do you.
They said she killed herself.Everyone was saying It. What started out as a rumor, quietly whispered among small gatherings of polite people, quickly grew into something that was openly discussed in a large gatherings of impolite people. I was so sick of hearing them talk about It. They questioned me. Over and over again, trying to find out If i knew what happened. But my answers didn't change. Yet It never failed-someone else would ask, as if one day my reply would suddenly be different. I didn't know, but i should have...and I've been haunted ever since.
Do not be ashamed of fear. Rather, fear the inability to overcome it.
Ah, life… ’tis a difficult battle to fight,' said Willoughby, 'but the beautiful moments will always make up for the sorrow.
Authors do not choose a story to write, the story chooses us.