Jesteśmy społecznością, która kocha książki

Idioci są łatwopalni, kochana. Niech wszyscy spłoną w piekle.

- But you must never, ever let the idiots into your head. They will only lead you astray.
-But how? How do I get them out of my head?
-Set them on fire. In your mind. Let them fuel the fire that keeps you striving. Idiots are highly flammable, love. Let them all burn in hell.

But now?
Now, I laugh. Out loud.
Now, I don't give a shit.

The world tried to crush you, and you refused to be shattered. You've recovered from every setback a stronger person, rising from the ashes only to astonish everyone around you. And you will continue to surprise and confuse those who understimate you. It is an inevitability.

You're only nineteen years old, Mr. Warner. And I think you forget that all the time. You have no perspective, no idea that you've only barely lived. There's still so much life ahead of you.

(...) ogień nienawiści nie zapłonie bez obecności tlenu uczucia.

Loneliness is a strange sort of thing.
It creeps up on you, quiet and still, sits by your side in the dark, strokes your hair as you sleep. It wraps itself around your bones, squeezing so tight you almost can’t breathe, almost can’t hear the pulse racing in your blood as it rushes up your skin and touches its lips to the soft hairs at the back of your neck. It leaves lies in your heart, lies next to you at night, leaches the light out from every corner. It’s a constant companion, clasping your hand only to yank you down when you’re struggling to stand up, catching your tears only to force them down your throat. It scares you simply by standing by your side.

My hair has been bothering me forever. It's too long, too long, a memento, a keepsake from all my time in the asylum, too long from all those years I was forgotten and left to rot in hell, too thick, too suffocating, too much, too this, too that, too annoying.

Arogancja to fałszywa pewność siebie. Rodzi się z niepewności.

I'm feeling suddenly out of control.

- Jak mam nie pozwolić, żeby mieli na mnie wpływ?
- Podpal ich.(...) W swojej głowie(...)Pozwól, żeby podsycali ogień, dzięki któremu idziesz do przodu.(...) Idioci są łatwopalni, kochana. Niech wszyscy spłoną w piekle.

A kto powiedział, że nie możesz wyglądać uroczo i dawać czadu?(...) Ja tak robię każdego dnia.

Those who do not understand you will always doubt you.

But the fire of true hatred, I realize, cannot exist without the oxygen of affection. I would not hurt so much, or hate so much, if I did not care.

I have a great fear of drowning in the ocean of my own silence.

In the steady thrum that accompanies quiet, my mind is unkind to me.

So I lie here, marinating in a sorrow I can never speak of,
while regret consumes my heart.

Your actions
are
the
only
traces
you leave
behind.

Who says you can't be cute and kick ass at the time?" Kenji winks at me. "I do it every day".

Całuje mnie tak, jakby wiedziała. Jakby wiedziała, jak rozpaczliwie tego potrzebuję, potrzebuję jej, potrzebuję tego ukojenia i uwolnienia.

Ci, którzy cię nie znają, zawsze będą w ciebie wątpić.

Nie chcę jego przyjaciół i jego śladów na mojej duszy.

To wszystko miało zrobić ze mnie silnego mężczyznę, tak mówił. Miało mi pomóc przetrwać.
Zamiast tego życie z moim ojcem sprawiło, że pragnąłem umrzeć.

Nie robi mi się niedobrze na widok krwi. Nie wzdrygam się przed naciśnięciem spustu.

Loneliness is a strange sort of thing.
It creeps up on you, quiet and still, sits by your side in the dark, strokes your hair as you sleep. It wraps itself around your bones, squeezing so tight you almost can’t breathe, almost can’t hear the pulse racing in your blood as it rushes up your skin and touches its lips to the soft hairs at the back of your neck. It leaves lies in your heart, lies next to you at night, leaches the light out from every corner. It’s a constant companion, clasping your hand only to yank you down when you’re struggling to stand up, catching your tears only to force them down your throat. It scares you simply by standing by your side.