Jane Gent

“Today would have been my son’s fourteenth birthday, and for all these years, this is what I have put my friends through. I have condemned them to a crippling carefulness in order to spare my feelings, and it has taken Hugo’s big mouth to make me realise it. My grief has become an addiction; a bad habit like a tattered comfort blanket that I have hung on to for far too long. It has to stop. I look in the mirror again, and try to see my face as a stranger would see it. It has all the requisite physical components to make it reasonably attractive; green eyes, full but well-shaped lips and a strong, straight nose. But there is no spark or spirit behind those eyes, and there is an expression of ingrained defeat haunting every gaunt contour of that woman’s face. That woman in the mirror is not me. She is the spectre that I have allowed myself to become and I don’t want to be her any more. I want to be the old Masha; the one I pray to God is still hiding inside me somewhere, hanging on by the tips of her fingernails.”
― Ruth Hogan, The Wisdom of Sally Red Shoes

“there was one time when I went too far and almost died. The water was very cold and I stayed under too long. Someone dragged me out just in time and I made out that it was simply a foolish accident. But I knew that it was more than that, and I learned a valuable lesson from it. I’m a survivor – I don’t want to die. The problem was that I was at the mercy of my emotions – I lacked control, and sometimes my grief could override my will.”
― Ruth Hogan, The Wisdom of Sally Red Shoes

“No.” Dr. Beck frowns. “He’s not ‘a schizophrenic.’ We don’t refer to patients that way. Miguel is a human being, and he’s more than his psychiatric diagnosis. He is not a schizophrenic—he’s a man who has schizophrenia. Do you understand”
― Freida McFadden, Ward D

“I learned to understand my emotions and with that knowledge came a certain degree of control. I have”
― Ruth Hogan, The Wisdom of Sally Red Shoes