Wilma

“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. What then kills love? Only this: Neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the mornings, make use of you at night. To crave another while pecking your cheek. To say your name without hearing it, to assume it is mine to call.”
― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

“¿Ha estado alguna vez enamorado? Horrible, ¿no? Te hace tan vulnerable. Te abre el pecho y el corazón y eso significa que alguien puede meterse dentro de ti y revolver todo. Construyes todas estas defensas, todo fuerte y armadura, para que nada pueda hacerte daño y entonces, llega esta estúpida persona, no diferente de cualquier otra estúpida persona, y se mete en tu estúpida vida… Le das un pedazo de ti, que no te pidió. Hace algo tonto algún día, como besarte o sonreírte y es entonces cuando tu vida ya no te pertenece nunca más. El amor toma rehenes. Llega hasta lo más profundo dentro de ti. Te va carcomiendo y te deja llorando en la oscuridad; una frase tan simple como “quizá deberíamos ser sólo amigos” se convierte en una astilla de vidrio que se te va hundiendo en el corazón. Duele. No sólo en la imaginación. No sólo en la mente. Es un alma herida, un verdadero dolor que se te mete dentro y te rasga en pedazos. Odio el amor.”
― Neil Gaiman

“Porque la característica esencial de lo que llamamos locura es la soledad, pero una soledad monumental. Una soledad tan grande que no cabe dentro de la palabra soledad y que uno no puede ni llegar a imaginar si no ha estado ahí. Es sentir que te has desconectado del mundo, que no te van a poder entender, que no tienes #Palabras para expresarte. Es como hablar un lenguaje que nadie más conoce. Es ser un astronauta flotando a la deriva en la vastedad negra y vacía del espacio exterior. De ese tamaño de soledad estoy hablando. Y resulta que en el verdadero dolor, en el dolor-alud, sucede algo semejante. Aunque la sensación de desconexión no sea tan extrema, tampoco puedes compartir ni explicar tu sufrimiento. Ya lo dice la sabiduría popular: Fulanito se volvió loco de dolor. La pena aguda es una enajenación. Te callas y te encierras.”
― Rosa Montero, La ridícula idea de no volver a verte

“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”
― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl