Aza Holmes Quotes

You're both the fire and the water that extinguishes it. You're the narrator, the protagonist, and the sidekick. You're the storyteller and the story told. You are somebody's something, but you are also your you.

To be alive is to be missing.

Nobody gets anybody else, not really. We're all stuck inside ourselves.

Like, the world is billions of years old, and life is a product of nucleotide mutation and everything. But the world is also the stories we tell about it.

You'd think solving mysteries would bring you closure, that closing the loop would comfort and quiet your mind. But it never does. The truth always disappoints.

Dr. Karen Singh liked to say that a unwanted thought was like a car driving past you when you're standing on on the side of the road, and I told myself I didn't have to get into that car, that my moment of choice was not whether to have the thought, but whether to be carried away by it. And then I got in the car.

Even though I laughed with them, it felt like I was watching the whole thing from somewhere else, like I was watching a movie about my life instead of living it.

Holmesy, you okay?" Daisy asked. I nodded. Sometimes I wondered why she liked me, or at least tolerated me. Why any of them did. Even I found myself annoying.

And if you can't pick what you do or think about, then maybe you aren't really real, you know? Maybe I'm just a lie that I'm whispering to myself.

The problem with happy endings, I said, is that they're either not really happy, or not really endings, you know? In real life, some things get better and some things get worse. And then eventually you die.

But I was beginning to learn that your life is a story told about you, not one that you tell. Of course, you pretend to be the author. You have to.

You seemed locked inside of your mind, and I can't know what's going on in there, and it scared me.

I knew how disgusting I was. I knew. I knew now for sure. I wasn't possessed by a demon. I was the demon.

Thoughts are just a different kind of bacteria, colonizing you. I thought about the gut-brain information axis. Maybe you're already gone. The prisoners run the jail now. Not a person so much as a swarm. Not a bee, but the hive.

Partly, I kept forgetting, but also there was something else I couldn't quite identify, some way-down fear that taking a pill to become myself was wrong.

It sucked having a dead person in your family, and I knew what he meant, about seeking solace in the old light. Three years from now, I knew, he'd find a different favorite star, one with older light to gaze upon. And when time caught up with that one, he'd love a farther star, and a farther one, because you can't let the light catch up with the present. Otherwise you'd forget.

Okay, well, I feel more like seven things than one thing.

Me gustan los poemas cortos con rima extraña, porque así es la vida. -¿Así es la vida? -Sí. Rima, pero no como esperas.

Felt myself slipping, but even that's a metaphor. Descending, but that is, too. Forged in the smithy of someone else's soul. Please just let me out whoever is authoring me, let me up out of this. Anything to be out of this.

Yes, well, in that respect and many others, American high schools do rather resemble prisons.

For the record, he who does fear death also dies only once, but whatever.

If taking a pill makes you different, lie, if it changes the way-down you...that's just a screwed-up idea, you know? Who's deciding what me means - me or the employees of the factory that makes Lexapro? It's like I have this demon inside of me, and I want it gone, but the idea of removing it via pill is...I don't know...weird. But a lot of days I get over that, because I do really hate the demon.

My children are grown-ups., so you and Noah are my only little boys I have left.

às vezes eu não entendia como daisy gostava de mim, ou sequer me aguentava. não entendia como alguém podia me aguentar. até eu me achava irritante.

a questão da espiral é que, se a seguimos, ela nunca termina. só vai se afunilando, infinitamente.

At the time I first realized I might be fictional, my weekdays were spent at publicly funded institution on the north side of Indianapolis called White River High School, where I was required to eat lunch at a particular time - between 12:37 P.M. and 1:14 P.M. - by forces so much larger than myself that I couldn't even begin to identify them.

(...) yo intentaba explicarle que hay algo enormemente extraño y triste en la idea de que solo puedes llegar a ser tú mismo ingiriendo una medicación que cambia tu yo.

El problema de los finales felices es que o no son de verdad felices, o no son de verdad finales, ¿sabes? En la vida real, unas cosas van mejor y otras peor. Y al final mueres.

Sentía la tensión en el aire, y sabía que él estaba buscando la manera de volver a alegrarme. Su cerebro daba vueltas al lado del mío. Yo no podía alegrarme, pero podía entristecer a la gente que me rodeaba.

Sentía la tensión en el aire, y sabía que él estaba buscando la manera de volver a alegrarme. Su cerebro daba vueltas al lado del mío. Yo no podía alegrarme, pero podía entristecer a la gente que me rodeaba,

The problem with happy endings is that they’re either not really happy, or not really endings, you know? In real life, some things get better and some things get worse. And then eventually you die.” – Aza Holmes, page 276

Qualquer um pode olhar para você, mas é muito raro encontrar quem veja o mesmo mundo que o seu.