The Dinner
by
happiness needs nothing but itself; it doesn’t have to be validated. “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way” is the opening sentence of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. All I could hope to add to that is that
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“I wish someone had told me that love isn’t torture. Because I thought love was this thing that was supposed to tear you in two and leave you heartbroken and make your heart race in the worst way. I thought love was bombs and tears and blood. I did not know that it was supposed to make you lighter, not heavier. I didn’t know it was supposed to take only the kind of work that makes you softer. I thought love was war. I didn’t know it was supposed to… I didn’t know it was supposed to be peace.”
― Daisy Jones & The Six
― Daisy Jones & The Six
“I’m thinking of ending things. Once this thought arrives, it stays. It sticks. It lingers. It dominates. There’s not much I can do about it. Trust me. It doesn’t go away. It’s there whether I like it or not. It’s there when I eat. When I go to bed. It’s there when I sleep. It’s there when I wake up. It’s always there. Always.”
― I'm Thinking of Ending Things
― I'm Thinking of Ending Things
“Women’s bodies are arranged, maimed, jeopardized, and tailored for the purposes of men-defined eroticism. [...] We dye our hair, smear our lips, paint our cheeks, stop our
sweat, perfume our genitals, unkink our hair, and pluck our brows.”
― Radical Feminist Therapy: Working in the Context of Violence
sweat, perfume our genitals, unkink our hair, and pluck our brows.”
― Radical Feminist Therapy: Working in the Context of Violence
“I've been so unhappy for years, so unhappy . . . I don't understand how a human being can be so unhappy all the time and still be alive.”
― The Black Prince
― The Black Prince
“The San Francisco therapist kept telling me I shouldn’t be terrified of creative experimentation.
“I don’t know what’s going to come out of me,” I told her. “It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way.”
“Why?” she said.
“To make up for it,” I said. “To make up for the fact that it’s me.”
―
“I don’t know what’s going to come out of me,” I told her. “It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way.”
“Why?” she said.
“To make up for it,” I said. “To make up for the fact that it’s me.”
―
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