Fisher Quotes

You can only give your heart away once, after that, everything else will chase your first love

Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg before it is broken.

I think that after the first time you give your heart away, you never get it back. The rest of your life is just you pretending that you still have a heart.

What’s the difference?” I asked him. “Between the love of your life, and your soulmate?” “One is a choice, and one is not.

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man You think you know. -Songs of Sapphique

Karl Marx: "Religion is the opiate of the masses." Carrie Fisher: "I did masses of opiates religiously.

Go be with your husband ... before he realises that he's still in love with me

Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow.

You will remember every day for the rest of your life because I was the one and you threw me away." And then he left.

I don’t want life to imitate art. I want life to be art.

I never once cheated on you. I never even looked at another girl when we were together.” Conrad Fisher

I’ve only ever loved two boys—both of them with the last name Fisher. Conrad was first, and I loved him in a way that you can really only do the first time around. It’s the kind of love that doesn’t know better and doesn’t want to—it’s dizzy and foolish and fierce. That kind of love is really a one-time-only thing.

She has the kind of love that can stain your soul, make you beg not to have one, just to escape the spell she’s put you under. I’ve tried to break myself of her over and over, but it’s pointless. I’ve got more of her in my veins than blood

There is more to loving someone than just making yourself happy. You have to want him to be happier than you are.

She will be your destruction. She's not healthy." "Then let her destroy me.

Broken people give broken love. And we are all a little broken. You just have to forgive and sew up the wounds love delivers, and move on.

Love is illogical. You fall into it like a manhole. Then you're just stuck. You die in love more than you live in love.

Please don't forget me, because the possibility of that hurts more than anything else.

Only the man who has known freedom Can define his prison.

When they're together, it's like putting a hurricane and a tornado in the same room - you can feel the tension. I didn't believe in the cliche of soul mates until I saw them together.

I have walked a stair of swords, I have worn a coat of scars. I have vowed with hollow words, I have lied my way to the stars -Songs of Sapphique

Tell me a truth, Senna." "I don't know how." "Then tell me a lie." "I don't love you." "The truth is for the mind," he says. "Lies are for the heart. So let's just keep lying.

Take your broken heart, make it into art.

No one can know sincere happiness, Sophie, without first having known sorrow. One can never appreciate the enormity and rareness of such a fiery bliss without seeing misery, however unfair that may be.

I have finally accepted that there are consequences to every action. I earned them and they are rightfully mine. There is no time to make bad decisions. Every step is precious. The definition of living is mine.

Sometimes you can only find Heaven by slowly backing away from Hell.

Let people feel the weight of who you really are, and let them fucking deal with it.

I don’t just want a part of you. I want all of you Jeremiah Fisher

Life does not accommodate you, it shatters you. Love is mean, but it’s good. It keeps us alive.

One day, you and I are gonna wake up and be alright. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but one day. One day. I promise you.

If my life wasn't funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.

My two great loves. I think I always knew I would be Belly Fisher one day. I just didn't know it was going to happen like this.

I fell in love underneath a tree.

I had now officially secured my front row seat on the train to Hell. Choo choo

The shortest distance between two points is the line from me to you.

Leah: 'I thought you loved your husband.' Olivia: 'I love yours too.

You shouldn’t have to convince anyone to choose you. There is no real choice in love.

There's no room for demons when you're self-possessed.

How many times can a heart be broken before it is beyond mend?

Olivia, you can have any man you want. Why him ? Why is it always about Caleb ?" "Because...because I didn't need anyone until I met him.

He was my crack. I could never get enough, and when I had him I was already thinking about when I could have him next.

We are all going to die, but I’m going to die first. In the very last second of my life, I will think of you. Senna

I'll do whatever I have to do to protect you. I'll lie, cheat, and steal to make you okay. I'll share your suffering, and I'll carry you when you're weighed down. I'll never leave you, not even when you ask me to. Do you believe me?

I feel I'm very sane about how crazy I am.

I was a relationship retard. I kicked, shoved, and punched people out of my life, so they never had a chance to hurt me.

She’s mine. She always has been, she always will be.

I love you too, Olivia. More than I could ever love another soul. There hasn't been a single hour in seven years that I haven't thought of you.

Let me carry you out. I'll never let you touch the ground. I was made to carry you, Olivia. You're fucking heavy with all of your guilt and self-loathing. But, I can do it. Because I love you.

Senna: “Why are you here?” Isaac: “Because you are.

Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night.

Underground, the stars are legend.

I was waiting for you - for years. I didn't live. I just waited for you to come back.

Fear, Sadness. They're not weaknesses. They are overpowering, defining emotions. They make you human, Sophie.

Maybe our souls touched underneath that tree. Maybe I decided to love her. Maybe love wasn't our choice. But when I looked at that woman, I saw myself differently.

Do not let what you think they think of you make you stop and question everything you are.

Humans weren’t made to carry someone else’s weight. We can barely lift our own.” “Maybe lifting someone else’s weight makes yours a little more bearable

Tell him he was my greatest adventure. Tell him I love him.

If you look at the person someone chooses to have a relationship with, you’ll see what they think of themselves.

Only prisoners have time to read, and if you want to engage in a twenty-year long research project funded by the state, you will have to kill someone.

This is something I’ve learned. You can’t run away to find yourself. Yourself is there no matter where you go.

All my years to this moment All my roads to this wall. All my words to this silence All my pride to this fall. -Songs of Sapphique

I take my first step and then my second, and right before the door closes, I look once more over my shoulder. Caleb is still under the tree, he winks at me, and I smile.

Life balances itself on a precarious ledge, we can stay safe up high or propel off the edge.

Isaac: “It hurts me when you cry.” Senna: “I’m crying, but I don’t feel anything,” Isaac: “Yes, I know. That’s what hurts me the most.

He kissed me with color, with drumbeat, and a surgeon’s precision. He kissed me with who he was, the sum of his life—and it was all encompassing. I wondered what I kissed him with since I was only broken parts.

Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.

Wherever we go in the next life, we’ll be together,” I say. "Let’s not go to hell then, that’s where Leah will be.

The truth is, I'm so deep in love with you, I can't see straight. The truth is, I've been afraid to admit it to myself, let alone you. The truth is, I'm terrified.

Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.

I finally said it. The actual words, out loud, to her face. It was a relief, not carrying it around anymore, and it was a rush, actually telling her. I was in an elated sort of daze, on a high. She loved me. I didn’t need to hear her say it out loud, I knew it innately in the way she looked at me just then. Conrad Fisher

I struck my match, she poured out her gasoline. We burn now. All the time.

You’ve been silent your whole life. You were silent when we met, silent when you suffered. Silent when life kept hitting you. I was like that too, a little. But not like you. You are a stillness. And I tried to move you. It didn’t work. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t move me. I heard everything you didn’t say. I heard it so loudly that I couldn’t shut it off. Your silence, Senna, I hear it so loudly.

We are lovers, fear and I. She calls to me, and I let her in.

The best kind of love is the love that isn't supposed to happen.

You breathed life back into me. It was instinct for me to be there with you. I didn’t want to save you, I just didn’t know how to leave you.

No motive is pure. No one is good or bad-but a hearty mix of both. And sometimes life actually gives to you by taking away.

Leah: 'How do I get him to come home?' Sam: 'Get a new personality and learn to shut the fuck up.

Newsflash: it's not the guy who determines whether you're a sports fisher or a keeper-it's you. (Don't hate the player, hate the game.) When a man approaches you you're the one with total control over the situation-whether he can talk to you, buy you a drink, dance with you, get your number, take you home, see you again, all of that. We certainly want these things from you; that's why we talked to you in the first place. But it's you who decides if you're going to give us any of the things we want, and how, exactly, we're going to get them. Where you stand in our eyes is dictated by YOUR control over the situation. Every word you say, every move you make, every signal you give to a man will help him determine whether he should try to play you, be straight with you, or move on to the next woman to do a little more sport fishing.

Oh what do you know about love ? You've never cheated to have it.

That's why writers write—to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.

You're my hiding place. I go to you when I'm messed up.

Handsome, fictional men were so much easier to stomach than real life ones who smelled of Christmas and looked like a Calvin Klein model

Lies, it sounds demented to want a woman’s lies. But, Olivia loves you with her lies. She lies about how she’s feeling, how she’s hurting, how she wants you when she tells you she doesn’t. She lies to protect you and herself.

She's mine. She always has been, she always will be. We've been running in opposite directions for the last ten years, and we collide at every turn. Sometimes, it's because we're looking for each other, other times it's fate.

One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you're living with this illness and functioning at all, it's something to be proud of, not ashamed of. They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medication.

That was the exact moment my heart threaded with hers. It was as if someone reached down with a sewing needle and stitched my soul to hers. How could one woman be so sharp and so vulnerable at the same time? Whatever would happen to her would happen to me. Whatever pain she would feel, I would feel it too. I wanted it — that was the surprising part. Selfish, self centered Caleb Drake loved a girl so much he could already feel himself changing to accommodate her needs. I fell. Hard. For the rest of this life and probably the next. I wanted her — every last inch of her stubborn, combative, catty heart.

There is a string that connects us that is not visible to the eye. Maybe every person has more than one soul they are connected to, and all over the world there are those invisible strings… Maybe the chances that you’ll find each and every one of your soul mates is slim. But sometimes you’re lucky enough to stumble across one. And you feel a tug. And it’s not so much a choice to love them though their flaws and through your differences, but rather you love them without even trying. You love their flaws.

It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are no set rules in life. You do what you have to do to survive. If that means running away from the love of your life to preserve your sanity, you do it. If it means breaking someone’s heart so yours doesn’t break; do it. Life is complicated — too much so for there to be absolutes. We are all so broken. Pick up a person, shake them around and you’ll hear the rattling of their broken pieces. Pieces our fathers broke, or our mothers, or our friends, strangers, or our loves. Olivia has stopped rattling quite as much as she used to. Love is a God-given tool, she tells me. It screws things back in place that were loose, and it cleans out all the broken pieces that you don’t need anymore. I believe her. Our love has been fixing each other. I hope to only hear a tiny jingle when I shake her in a few years

Don’t be upset that you can’t attain constant happiness. It’s the quickest way to feel like a failure in life. If each of our lives represented a page in a book, happiness would be the punctuation. It breaks up the parts that are too long. It closes off some things, divides others. But it’s brief—showing up when it’s needed and filling tired paragraphs with breaks.

Happy is one of the many things I'm likely to be over the course of a day and certainly over the course of a lifetime. But I think if you have the expectation that you're going to be happy throughout your life--more to the point, if you have a need to be comfortable all the time--well, among other things, you have the makings of a classic drug addict or alcoholic.

I thought I would inaugurate a Bipolar Pride Day. You know, with floats and parades and stuff! On the floats we would get the depressives, and they wouldn’t even have to leave their beds - we’d just roll their beds out of their houses, and they could continue staring off miserably into space. And then for the manics, we’d have the manic marching band, with manics laughing and talking and shopping and fucking and making bad judgment calls.

I call people sometimes hoping not only that they’ll verify the fact that I’m alive but that they’ll also, however indirectly, convince me that being alive is an appropriate state for me to be in. Because sometimes I don’t think it’s such a bright idea. Is it worth the trouble it takes trying to live life so that someday you get something worthwhile out of it, instead of it almost always taking worthwhile things out of you?

I’m sorry, Olivia, for hurting you,” he said hoarsely and my heart heaved in my chest. Why was his voice so gentle? Why wasn’t he screaming at me? I was the one who did the hurting. It was me. My fault. My sin. My mess. “You will never see me again after today.” He paused and his next words struck me so deeply I would never recover from them. “I will love again, Olivia, you will hurt forever. What you’ve done is…You are worthless because you make yourself that way. You will remember me every day for the rest of your life because I was the one and you threw me away.” And then he left.

In a sense I’m so far gone, I don‘t know what to say,” I begin. “I love you so much, and there are so many things that I didn’t get to tell you. I was so scared of the way that you loved me, Caleb.” I swipe at a tear that is leaking from my eye and continue. “You changed everything. I was so frightened of losing you that I did everything in my power to drive you away. I thought that if I didn’t, eventually you would see that you were wasting your time with me and leave anyway. I miss you. No, not just miss you, my heart aches every day because you’re not there. I am so sorry for what I did. All of it. Please, please don’t forget me, because the possibility of that hurts more than anything else.

Capitalist realism insists on treating mental health as if it were a natural fact, like weather (but, then again, weather is no longer a natural fact so much as a political-economic effect). In the 1960s and 1970s, radical theory and politics (Laing, Foucault, Deleuze and Guattari, etc.) coalesced around extreme mental conditions such as schizophrenia, arguing, for instance, that madness was not a natural, but a political, category. But what is needed now is a politicization of much more common disorders. Indeed, it is their very commonness which is the issue: in Britain, depression is now the condition that is most treated by the NHS. In his book The Selfish Capitalist, Oliver James has convincingly posited a correlation between rising rates of mental distress and the neoliberal mode of capitalism practiced in countries like Britain, the USA and Australia. In line with James’s claims, I want to argue that it is necessary to reframe the growing problem of stress (and distress) in capitalist societies. Instead of treating it as incumbent on individuals to resolve their own psychological distress, instead, that is, of accepting the vast privatization of stress that has taken place over the last thirty years, we need to ask: how has it become acceptable that so many people, and especially so many young people, are ill?

Anyway, George comes up to me the first day of filming and he takes one look at the dress and says, 'You can't wear a bra under that dress.' So, I say, 'Okay, I'll bite. Why?' And he says, 'Because... there's no underwear in space.' I promise you this is true, and he says it with such conviction too! Like he had been to space and looked around and he didn't see any bras or panties or briefs anywhere. Now, George came to my show when it was in Berkeley. He came backstage and explained why you can't wear your brassiere in other galaxies, and I have a sense you will be going to outer space very soon, so here's why you cannot wear your brassiere, per George. So, what happens is you go to space and you become weightless. So far so good, right? But then your body expands??? But your bra doesn't- so you get strangled by your own bra. Now I think that this would make a fantastic obit- so I tell my younger friends that no matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.

The current ruling ontology denies any possibility of a social causation of mental illness. The chemico-biologization of mental illness is of course strictly commensurate with its depoliticization. Considering mental illness an individual chemico-biological problem has enormous benefits for capitalism. First, it reinforces Capital’s drive towards atomistic individualization (you are sick because of your brain chemistry). Second, it provides an enormously lucrative market in which multinational pharmaceutical companies can peddle their pharmaceuticals (we can cure you with our SSRIs). It goes without saying that all mental illnesses are neurologically instantiated, but this says nothing about their causation. If it is true, for instance, that depression is constituted by low serotonin levels, what still needs to be explained is why particular individuals have low levels of serotonin. This requires a social and political explanation; and the task of repoliticizing mental illness is an urgent one if the left wants to challenge capitalist realism.

I was not staring at you,” he told his plate. I leaned over. “Did you hear that, Dingane’s lunch? He was not staring at you.” He looked up at me crossly. “I was not staring at you.” “I never said you were.” “I was merely explaining that Henry was exaggerating. I did not stare at you.” “Okay,” I stated, implying in my tone that he had done just that. “I didn’t. I-I wasn’t.” “I believe you,” I told him “I may have looked at you a few times to make sure you were doing your job.” “Oh, I see then.” “But I certainly wasn’t staring.” “We’ve established that you were not staring.” He breathed deeply a few times, his eyes burning into mine. “Good.” He’d definitely been staring.