You don’t have anything if you don’t have the stories.
You are not your job, you’re not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You are not your fucking khakis. You are all singing, all dancing crap of the world.
Everybody is identical in their secret unspoken belief that way deep down they are different from everyone else.
It’s easy to criticize somebody for doing something that you’re too scared to do yourself.
That’s the thing about pain…it demands to be felt.
As soon as you tie me down and put me in a box, I’ll cease to exist even though I’m here. Never let this place make you that kind of person. It’ll only ruin us.
You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.
And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed.