Quotes About Reflection

I hadn't realized till then how a thought, once you have thought it, can never be laid to rest. It may lay low, but any time it can pop right up again, put certain words in your mouth.

First thought: It was a dream Second thought: No it wasn't Third thought: Crap

My face becomes a Picasso sketch, my body slicing into pieces.

Why bother trying? What was the point? So I could go to some suck-ass college, get a diploma, march out into a job that I hated, marry a pretty girl who would want to divorce me, but then she wouldn't because we'd have kids, so instead she'd be the angry woman at the other end of the kitchen table, and the kids would grow up watching this, until one day I'd look at my son and he'd look just like that face in the bathroom mirror? If that was life, then it was twisted.

I am locked into the mirror and there is no door out.

The one good thing about being kind of shy is that nobody bugs you when you want to be left alone.

I am not going to think about it. It was ugly, but it's over, and I'm not going to think about it.

Didn't help to ponder things that were forever gone. It only made a body restless and fill up with bees, all wanting to sting something.

I scared myself, because once you've thought long and hard enough about doing something that is colossally stupid, you feel like you've actually done it, and then you're never quite sure what your limits are.

I pushed my ragged mouth against the mirror. A thousand crushed bleeding lips pushed back at me...

I look at my homely sketch. It doesn't need anything. Even through the river in my eyes I can see that. It isn't perfect and that makes it just right.

I keep thinking that if I could just unzip my skin, step out of this body, then I would see who I really am.

Until then we're going to keep making memories like this, moments when we're the only two people in the whole world. And when we get scared or lonely or confused, we'll pull out these memories and wrap them around us and they'll make us feel safe. And strong.

How did I get like this?

I want to tell him that it's just a stupid car, but bits of me are scattered all over town; the graveyard, school, Cassie's room, the motel, and standing in from of the sink in my mother's kitchen. It takes too much energy to gather all the bits together, so I just sit there and watch him implode.

I think you have a lot to say. I'd like to hear it.

It made me strong.I took a step back, near my whole self in the mirror.I pushed back my shoulders and raised my chin, my back straight as an arrow.

Trying to figure out what you want to do, who you want to be, is messy as hell; the best anyone can hope for is to figure out the next step.

There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.

Death is funny, when you think about it. Everybody does it, but nobody knows how, exactly how.

I can't let me hear this, but it's too late. The facts sneak in and stab me.

He says a million things without saying a word. I make a note to study David Pertrakis.I have never heard a more eloquent silence.

I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world.

The girl reflected back from the window in front of me has poinsettias growing out of her belly and head. She's the shape of a breakfast-link sausage standing on broomstick legs, her arms made from twigs, her face blurred with an eraser. I know that this is me, but it's not me, not really. I don't know what I look like. I can't remember how to look.