Rehab Quotes

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

I don't get high, but sometimes I wish I did. That way, when I messed up in life I would have an excuse. But right now there's no rehab for stupidity.

I was thinking how amazing it was that the world contained so many lives. Out in these streets people were embroiled in a thousand different matters, money problems, love problems, school problems. People were falling in love, getting married, going to drug rehab, learning how to ice-skate, getting bifocals, studying for exams, trying on clothes, getting their hair-cut and getting born. And in some houses people were getting old and sick and were dying, leaving others to grieve. It was happening all the time, unnoticed, and it was the thing that really mattered.

Whether I or anyone else accepted the concept of alcoholism as a disease didn't matter; what mattered was that when treated as a disease, those who suffered from it were most likely to recover.

Last time I really got to know myself it turned out there was a whole gang of bitches in there to deal with. I felt like the receptionist at a rehab center. They all had nice tits though, I gotta say.

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!

Ferret took out a folded scrap of paper and passed it to him. 'My guy Ben doesn't know where the other club is, but the girls are being shipped in from here, a rehab centre in Newtonville.' 'What's this other place called?' Tazeem asked as he slipped the scrap of paper into his pocket. 'The place is just known as The Club. But the behind-the-scenes bit that only the real big spenders get to see, there's no official name, 'cause officially it doesn't exist, that's know as The Zombie Room.

The worst gift I was given is when I got out of rehab that Christmas; a bottle of wine. It was delicious.

Right. Lack of opportunities," Daddy says. "Corporate America don't bring jobs to our communities, and they damn sure ain't quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don't prepare us well enough. That's why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don't get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It's easier to find some crack that it is the find a good school around here. "Now, think 'bout this," he says. "How did the drugs even get in our neighborhood? This is a multibillion-dollar industry we talking 'bout, baby. That shit is flown into our communities, but I don't know anybody with a private jet. Do you?" "No." "Exactly. Drugs come from somewhere, and they're destroying our community," he says. "You got folks like Brenda, who think they need them survive, and then you got the Khalils, who think they need to sell them to survive. The Brendas can't get jobs unless they're clean, and they can't pay for rehab unless they got jobs. When the Khalils get arrested for selling drugs, they either spend most of their life in prison, another billion-dollar industry, or they have a hard time getting a real job and probably start selling drugs again. That's the hate they're giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That's Thug Life.

At the bottom of every person's dependency, there is always pain, Discovering the pain and healing it is an essential step in ending dependency.

I found the prospect daunting, but somehow comforting, too, because the counselors insisted it could be done, and, after all, many of them were recovering alcoholics themselves.

He’s my drug of choice, and I don’t think there’s a rehab for it.

You are not an alcoholic or an addict. You are not incurably diseased. You have merely become dependent on substances or addictive behavior to cope with underlying conditions that you are now going to heal, at which time your dependency will cease completely and forever.

فى اللغة اسماء ممنوعة من الصرف وفى القلب وجوه ممنوعة من النسيان

I’m not going to let go of you. I’m going to hold you all night. So go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you’re still craving cocaine, go ahead. You’re safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won’t let go, and if you still feel like you can’t trust yourself in the morning, and it’s what you want, I’ll drive you to rehab myself. Okay?" ~ Max

If drugs were to Joey Lynch what Claire Biggs was to me, then there was no amount of rehab that could sway me to kick the habit. Because she was the habit of my lifetime.

الحب فطرة إنسانية ولدت معنا لا نحتاج أن نتعلمها بل أن نتعلم كيف نعبر عنها كيف نشبعها كيف نسيطر عليها الحب ليس حراماً ولا آثماً ولا عاراً يُخجل منه أو يُستر

Four rehabs meant a fifth was somewhere down the road.

The only way to make sure that the Hand didn't get to you would have been to kill your brother. I could've done it, but I didn't. I just gave him some drugs." "You gave an addict in rehab drugs, and you want credit for it?" "Of course it sounds bad when you put it that way.

People die all around us all the time. Drop like flies. Overdose. Aids. Sometimes they kill themselves. People come. They go. Dying is the same as rehab or moving back to Missouri. It just means I won't be seeing them again

My daughter, Carly, has been in and out of drug treatment facilities since she was thirteen. Every time she goes away, I have a routine: I go through her room and search for drugs she may have left behind. We have a laugh these days because Carly says, “So you were lookingfor drugs I might have left behind? I’m a drug addict, Mother. We don’t leave drugs behind, especially if we’re going into treatment. We do all the drugs. We don’t save drugs back for later. If I have drugs, I do them. All of them. If I had my way, we would stop for more drugs on the way to rehab, and I would do them in the parking lot of the treatment center.

I told her that I didn't want to take any drugs. That I had come here not to take drugs. "Listen," she said, not unkindly, "up until now I would say that ninety-nine percent of all the narcotics you have taken in your life you bought from guys you didn't know, in bathrooms or on street corners, something like that. Correct?" I nodded. "Well these guys could have been selling you salt or strychnine. They didn't care. They wanted your money. I don't care about your money, and, unlike your previous suppliers, I went to college to study just the right drugs to give to people like you in order to help you get better. So, bearing all that in mind ... Take the fucking drugs!" I took the drugs.

I might be developing an addiction. You being my drug of choice. Rehab is 'not' an option, my love is forever. Just so you know.

Besides being blind to lots of good things, the GDP also benefits from all manner of human suffering. Gridlock, drug abuse, adultery? Goldmines for gas stations, rehab centers, and divorce attorneys. If you were the GDP, your ideal citizen would be a compulsive gambler with cancer who’s going through a drawn-out divorce that he copes with by popping fistfuls of Prozac and going berserk on Black Friday. Environmental pollution even does double duty: One company makes a mint by cutting corners while another is paid to clean up the mess. By contrast, a centuries-old tree doesn’t count until you chop it down and sell it as lumber.

He’s been to rehab, which is a travesty; you can tell by his smug face that he’s not capable of genuine addiction.

Most humbling of all is to comprehend the lifesaving gift that your pit crew of people has been for you, and all the experiences you have shared, the journeys together, the collaborations, births and deaths, divorces, rehab, and vacations, the solidarity you have shown one another. Every so often you realize that without all of them, your life would be barren and pathetic. It would be Death of a Salesman, though with e-mail and texting.

You think you’re indebted to your parents because they gave you everything you have. But they didn’t give you what fucking mattered. They owe you. They owe you for not asking why their daughter isn’t home. Why she looks distant and sad. Why she has barricaded herself in a fucking apartment with her boyfriend. They have failed you, and if they tell you to get on a fucking plane or go to rehab – where we all know you shouldn’t be – then you need to tell them to go to hell. And if you don’t, Lo and I will. I promise you that.

A month's salary, deep regret, the telephone number of some foul rehab clinic and my lance was free.

If a sorceress wanted a man who would stay faithful even when bespelled and accosted by nymphs, then she had to support that man even when he believed he could rehab his douchelord brother.

Women aren’t rehab centers for emotionally stunted man-babies who think the key to a serious relationship is to just wait for the right woman to come along. You have to be ready to be uncomfortable, to stretch yourself, to be vulnerable.

العظماء لم تنجبهم الطبيعة ولم ينجبهم الفراغ أنجبتهم تلك المرأة التى تقللون من قدرتها دائماً

Hit the bottom and get back up; or hit the bottle and stay down.

كل هروب يلزمه بالضرورة جبان وحده الهروب إلى الله حرفة الشجعان

All rehab can do is tell you what’s wrong with you and then suggest ways for you to get better.

Drunkards have a problem, not with sobriety, but with reality.

شكرا للغرباء لطالما كانوا كالفوانيس يضيئون عتمتنا ويرشدوننا ونحن نبحث عن أنفسنا فى قلوب من نحب والطرقات

_يوجد رجالنا للعيش وتولد نساؤنا للأنتظار انتظار الفرص الحب الحياة

ولأنك جئت فى العمر مرة فأنى احببتك الف مرة مرة حين جئتِ ومرات حين غبت ولأن عينيك بحر ِ إنى احبك حتى الغرق ولأن الحياة بعدك موت جميل فأنى احبك حتى الممات

عندما اكتب اليك ِفإن لكِ فى كل فاصلة نبضة وبعد كل نقطة قُبلة ولكِ ضمة أخُفيها ما بين الشدةِ والكسرة

هل أبتعدت لتقترب أم اقتربت لتبتعد

Being a compulsive overeater is no different from being an alcoholic or drug addict. The only difference is that you can avoid drugs and alcohol completely and you have to have a relationship with food every day for the rest of your life. It's actually the hardest addiction to live with. If you were an alcoholic and someone said to you that you were required to have a single drink three to five times a day, but were not supposed to ever drink to excess, or a drug addict who was required to take just one pill severeal times a day every day, but you're not supposed to ever take more than that...no one would ever make it through rehab.

عندما اكتب اليك ِفإن لكِ فى كل فاصلة نبضة وبعد كل نقطة قُبلة

There was an uncommon array of people in there [rehab] with me, and I became friends with all of them. You recognize the possibility of your own demise in the lives of these other people. You're doing the same thing they are, but you can't see it in yourself. However, you start seeing all of these tragedies and potential miracles in other people. It's a real eye- and heart-opening situation.

أحبك لأنك تشعرين بحزنى فى أول صوتى ولأنك ترين همى فى أول بوحى ولأنك الوحيدة التى تَعرفُ طريق الأبتسامة لثغرى أحبك لأنك أطهر النساء فى قلبى وأجمل الأناث فى عينى وأرق الفتياتُ فى حضنى

The most mortifying fact of my life is something that happened when I was fourteen and I have never admitted to anyone: not to friends nor therapists; not even in rehab when we were detailing our own personal spirals of shame did I confess. It is this: I am a graduate of the Barbizon School of Modeling.

Gillette--The best a man can get." I stared at the screen. What happened to me? I was meant to be one of those guys, vigorous and athletic and successful and, most of all, American. I was going to walk on the moon, be a movie star or a rock got or a comedian. I was going to have an amazing life and kids with Helen and die like Chaplin a thousand years from now in my Beverly Hills mansion surrounded by my adoring family, with the grieving world media standing by. Instead, I was just another show-business mediocrity. A drunk who shat his pants and ran for help. My life had been careless and selfish. Pleasure in the moment was my only thought, my solitary motivation. I had disappointed whoever had been foolish enough to love me, and left them scarred. I was a very long way from being the best a man can get.

If you cherish something enough", she told me, "it doesn't matter how old or worn or useless it's become; your caring for it immediately raises its value in somebody else's eyes. It's just like rehab- a body's got to believe in their own worth before anybody can start fixing them, but most people need someone to believe in them before they can start believing in themselves.

كيف السبيل إليك وبينى وبينك التقاليد والوطن كيف السبيل إليك وحالت بيننا القبيلة كيف أخبرهم أن العادات الراسخة لا تجعل منا أوفياء بل نسخة حديثة من أولئك الذين فارقوا الحياة

كل صباح لا يبدأ بك هو مساء يجامل الشمس صباحك طفل يكبر على صوتك يجوع حين لا يسمعه ويبكى حين لا يعانقه

أن أحبك يعنى ان تنبت فى قلبى وتنمو فى صدرى ان احبك يعنى ان ارى فيك الأشياء الأسماء وكل الأصدقاء

متى ستفهم أن هذه بلادنا وانت تحكمها وليست بلادك ونحن نسكنها

ُﻓﻲ اﻟﺤب ﻴﺘﺤدث اﻟرﺠﻝ ﻋن اﻨﺘﺼﺎر اﺘﻪ ُوﺘﺘﺤدث اﻟﻤر أة ﻋن ﻫز اﺌﻤﻬﺎ ﻓ ﺎﻟرﺠﻝ أﺠﺒن ﻤن أن ﻴﻘوﻝ : دﻤرﺘﻨﻲ اﻤر أة ُواﻟﻤر أة أدﻫﻰ ﻤن أن ﺘﻘوﻝ دﻤرت ! رﺠﻼ

My problem is I love sex. No joking I really love sex. Life without sex is unbearable for me. As a child my mum says I loved men and hated women. I use to smile at men when I was in the pram and offer them lollipops or sweeties. I guess it is in my genes, my little weakness. I can live without the Valium and Vodka but not my sex. To me my choice is simple men or Paradise and I love them both. I cannot make that choice. It is like there is some evil force driving me to flirt and sleep around. No one man has ever been enough for me and now I have to live like a nun in rehab. I am not bold I am just misunderstood. No, don’t laugh it is an illness and an exhausting one I am so tired, so very tired.

لا أريد رجلا يعيشنى فى الخفاء يخجل من الأعتراف بى أمام الأخرين كحبيبة يسعى جاهدا ليناصفها الحياة لا تُغرينى التغريدات ولا القصائد ولن يشعرنى بالتميز إذا كنت ملهمتك السرية حتى وأن أصدرتنى فى دواووين غرامية دونت فيها كل شئ إلا اسمى أريد رجلا يفخر بى ويقول هذه حبيبتى التى ستنجب لى أطفالى رجل يدوس بقدمه كل عادة جاهلة متوارثة من أجلى لأنه يؤمن أنى امرأة لست عادية رجل عظيم أكثر ما يثير قلقه هو ألا ينال استحسان والدى _

يا صديقى خذ من القلب لك ملجأً وخذ من الروح لك مطرحاً خُذنى كلى لهمك وخذ نصفى لفرحك إن لم أقف أنا بجانبك فبئس الصاحب أنا لظلك

شيئان لا تصدقهما ابدا دموع النساء وقلوب الرجال وشيئان لا تكذبهما ابدا دموع الرجال وقلوب النساء

حين يقول لك أحدهم قلبى مهجور فلا تكن أحمقاً وتعزيه فلقد أراد أن يقول لك بطريقة أخرى اجعله مأهولا بك

أمى هذا الوطن لا يقرأ الم الفقراء ولا يكتب اسمائهم أصم لا يسمع انينهم أعمى لا يرى جراحهم أبكم لا يهدئ خواطرهم مشلول لا يزور بيوتهم

I'm not sad or embarrassed to be an alcoholic anymore. I get irritated when I hear parents use that jokey shorthand: God, I hope my kid doesn't end up in rehab. Or: God, I hope my kid doesn't end up in therapy. I understand the underlying wish -- I hope my kid grows up happy and safe. When we say things like that, though, we underscore the false belief that people who seek help are failures and people who don't seek help are a success. It's not true. Some of the healthiest, most accomplished people I know went to both rehab and therapy, and I've known some sick motherfuckers who managed to avoid both.

But I want you to know that you're a beautiful girl, far more beautiful than I ever was at your age, and that starving yourself to compete with all of those skinny celebrities who spend half their lives checking in and out of rehab is not only a completely unreasonable and unattainable goal, but will only end up making you sick.

كيف لذكرى صغيرة أن تدمينا وكيف لحفنة حنين أن تبكينا؟ كيف ننتظر من لا ينتظرنا وننسى من لا ينسانا كيف نجبر قلوب من يكسروننا ونكسر قلوب من يجبروننا كيف نهتم بقلوب تبيعنا ونهمل قلوب تشترينا وكيف نحب من لا يحبوننا ونبكى من لا يبكينا

What would you rather have?" "Cheeseburger and a small fry. Coke classic. Better yet, dope classic." "Sure. I'll take a milkshake. What's the special flavor this week, chocolate Jack Daniels?" "Strawberry scotch." "Stick one of those paper umbrellas in mine." "Shove a syringe in mine. And a plastic tombstone. RIP, baby. He was born a rock star. He died a junkie." "Rock in peace." [...] "He wanted the world and lost his soul. [...] Sold it all for rock and roll. Lost his heart in a needle. Found his life in the grave. The road to hell is paved in marijuana leaves. Now he rocks in peace.

حين أقول انى احتاجك يعنى ان أفتش عنك فى كل مكان وانا على يقين انى سأنجو من ضياعى وأعلم انك ستكونين عند حسن احتياجى حين أقول انى احتاجك فأنا على ثقة أنك ستنسفين كل موعد تلقين بكل اشيائك المهمة عرض الحائط تجيئين الى صحراء صدرى كغيمة ممطرة

Freshly brainwashed from rehab, I carry the bottle into the bathroom. I hold it up to the light. See the pretty bottle? Isn't it beautiful? Yes, it's beautiful. I unscrew the cap and pour it into the toilet. I flush twice. And then I think, why did I flush twice? The answer, is of course, because I truly do know myself. I cannot be sure I won't attempt to drink from the toilet, like a dog.

أجمل قصص الُحب تبدأ بعد منتصف الليل حين تتأنق وتتطهر وتختلى بنفسك عن كل البشر فتُهاتف خالقك ورازقك بسجدة وتر

لتسعد مع المرأة يجب أن تملك صبر أيوب وعمى يعقوب ولتسعده يجب أن تمتلك حكمة لقمان ومال قارون

الذين يتصنعون الفرح يتألمون أكثر مما لو تصالحوا مع أحزانهم

فقد الأمل خطيئة

So are you an inmate or a rubbernecker?" she asks. "Rubbernecker," I answer without hesitation. "You?" "I'm a screw. Or on staff, anyway. Used to be an inmate. Repeat offender. Crimes against my body. Puking sickness followed by heroin, which led to more puking sickness." I'd be surprised at her forthrightness, but that's addicts for you. The twelve steps crack 'em open and then they can't shut up.

_ لا يعلم ابى ان اللصوص والمجرمين ليسوا فى الشوارع فقط انهم بيننا يظهرون بهيئة الملائكة والفرسان النبلاء يستهدفون قلوب الجميلات لا يعلم ابى ان الحب ما عاد يُهرب من النوافذ والمواعيد ما عادت تسرق من شقوق الألبواب كل شئ يقدم جاهزا بضغطة زر كل هذة المسافات الطويلة التى تفرق اثنين يمكن أن تتقلص بضغطة واحدة فقط

_امرأة فكرت كالرجال وتصرفت كالنساء

يزرعون كل شئ جميل فى صدرك ثم يرحلون خلسه دون ان تشعر ودونما وداع يتركونك تحصد ما تبقى منهم داخل ذاكرتك وقلبك كى تلتهمهم جرحا جرحا خيبة خيبة

أن تعيش وحيداً يعنى أن تغزو الذكريات كل يومك وأن تلتفت إلى الخلف دائماً عسى أن تلقى من يتبع خطوك أن تعيش وحيداً يعنى يغادر من قربك الكل ويستأنس بقربك الهَم

تبتسمين فيفقد الليل وعيه ويكتم القمر تنهده ويسقط من السماء نجم أرهقه إعجابه

البعض يعضون على جراحهم لا ضعفا بل لتستمر الحياة

قالوا له حدثنا عن العدل فى بلاد المسلمين قال نهانا الأسلام أن نتحدث عن الغائبين

I open my arms wide and let the wind flow over me. I love the universe and the universe loves me. That’s the one-two punch right there, wanting to love and wanting to be loved. Everything else is pure idiocy—shiny fancy outfits, Geech-green Cadillacs, sixty-dollar haircuts, schlock radio, celebrity-rehab idiots, and most of all, the atomic vampires with their de-soul-inators, and flag-draped coffins. Goodbye to all that, I say. And goodbye to Mr. Asterhole and the Red Death of algebra and to the likes of Geech and Keeeevin. Goodbye to Mom’s rented tan and my sister’s chargecard boobs. Goodbye to Dad for the second and last time. Goodbye to black spells and jagged hangovers, divorces, and Fort Worth nightmares. To high school and Bob Lewis and once-upon-a-time Ricky. Goodbye to the future and the past and, most of all, to Aimee and Cassidy and all the other girls who came and went and came and went. Goodbye. Goodbye. I can’t feel you anymore. The night is almost too beautifully pure for my soul to contain. I walk with my arms spread open under the big fat moon. Heroic “weeds rise up from the cracks in the sidewalk, and the colored lights of the Hawaiian Breeze ignite the broken glass in the gutter. Goodbye, I say, goodbye, as I disappear little by little into the middle of the middle of my own spectacular now

They're bored with their boring husbands who are workaholics like my dad. They're bored with their boring lives, sick of us kids and all this puberty and rebelling, so they pop pills all day long and shop and watch the soaps, and then when it all starts to fall apart they realize they just want to be happy again, so they go to rehab to clean up their act and then start fresh. Can you relate?

My little brother is in rehab. My little brother is in rehab. I feel like these words are written on my arms whenever I push up my sleeves, written on my cheeks whenever they relax out of my fake smile. They want to come out of my mouth, all the time. When I am called upon in class, or when someone says, "Hey, what's up?" - that's what I want to answer. "My little brother's in rehab." But I never do.

It’s tragic. The wounds that humans get are so strong that they’re like robots operating on childhood programming. And even if they learn the truth about themselves in therapy and rehab, they still cling to their false beliefs and make choices that don’t serve them—over and over again.” He shakes his head at the cosmic absurdity of it all. “It takes hard, conscious, diligent work to genuinely change.

It's the causes, not the dependent person, that must be corrected. That's why I see the United States' War on Drugs as being fought in an unrealistic manner. This war is focused on fighting drug dealers and the use of drugs here and abroad, when the effort should be primarily aimed at treating and curing that causes that compel people to reach for drugs.

سألنى قلبك هل يتعلم ؟ قلت هو يتألم ولا يتعلم بل يكرر خطأ الحب كل مرة وكأنه يحدث له أول مرة

أتدري ما أعظم أنواع الحرية ؟ هو ألا تسمح لأحد أن يقتحم دواخلك دون أرادتك قد يهيمن علي جسدك ولكن تظل الروح طليقة ويظل الفكر عصياً علي التركيع لغير الله

الفقد أن تطيل المكوث على رصيف الأنتظار وتنتظر شخصا لطالما أضاع الطريق إليك وهو يرتدى أحذية الغياب

ما أسوأ أولئك الذين لا يجيئونك إلا حين يجئ زحامهم تكنُسُ حشائش الحزن من قلوبهم تسمعهم تبكى معهم وتجفف دمعهم وحين يجئ زحامك يتركونك كما لو انك اول واخر اعدائهم

- دعينا نتفق أن أعشقك من بعيد وأن تكونى لقلبى أقرب من حبل الوريد أن أكون لكِ غريباً تشكين له همك الكبير وأن تكونى لقلبى أجمل وأحلى وأرق حبيب دعينا نتفق على ألا نتفق أنا أقول لكِ أحبك يا حسناء فتُجيبين وأنا أحبك يا مجنونى مرتين ثم نتشاجر أى يحب الأخر أكثر ولا ينتهى ابداً ذلك الشجار وإن فرقت بيننا الأقدار دعينا نتفق يا جميلة أن كل كلمة أكتبها لغيرك كافرة حرام ! وأن كل ابتسامة تطلقيها لغيرى ليست لهم بحلال ! أن كل حبٍ فى صدرى لسواكِ كاذب أسود وأن كل شوقٍ فى صدرك لسواى مصطنع أحمق دعينا نتفق أن أكون لكِ سماء أنتِ شمسها وأجمل أقمارها وأن تكونى لى سحابة بيضاء أنا الريحُ التى تُحركها وأجمل أمطارها أن أكون لكِ دفئ الشتاء وأن تكونى لى ربيع الوجدان

AA purports to be open to anyone, as it is stated in Tradition Tree, "The only requirement for AA membership is a desire to stop drinking," but it isn't open to everyone. It's open only to those who are willing to publicly declare themselves to be alcoholics or addicts and who are willing to give up their inherent right of independence by declaring themselves powerless over addictive drugs and alcohol, as stated in Step One, "We admitted we are powerless over alcohol- that our lives had become unmanageable.

القطارات لا تخلف مواعيدها فلم تتحدث دائرة السكة الحديد أن محطة أصيبت بخيبة أمل جراء انتظارها لقطار وحدك تصل متأخرا لتجد أن لا فتة مكتوب فيها قد كان هنا يوماً محطة انتظرتك تحت المطر بلا مظلة فلما يئست من مجيئك قررت أن تصبح قطارا لتعلمك أن الجادين فى الوصول يصلون

When she walks in that first Monday, of course I am awake - I am always up these days - I decide to lay it down. “Look”, I say, “I snort Ritalin. That’s what I do. I snort it all day long. I crush up the pills and inhale them like cocaine. I’m up to about forty a day. I can’t stop. I am planning to get help, to check into rehab or something like that, as soon as this book is finished. In the meantime, I can’t stop, and I am not going to.” She looks at me impassively. “I don’t care what you think about it. So you have a choice. I can sit here and do it in front of you, or I can keep running into the bathroom so you don’t have to see. Either way, it’s going to happen, so it’s just about how bad it’s going to make you feel to watch.” She doesn’t seem to know what to say. She stares. I think she is going to cry. I think she wants to give me a hug, maybe, but there is an invisible cage, a delicate netting of glass, an ice sculpture surrounding me that no one can walk through. I’m cold. I’ve frozen into someone who just can’t be touched. I dare you to try.

SIMONE: I was getting a lot of phone calls from Daisy at all hours of the day. I’d say, “Let me come get you.” And she’d refuse. I thought about trying to force her into rehab. But you can’t do that. You can’t control another person. It doesn’t matter how much you love them. You can’t love someone back to health and you can’t hate someone back to health and no matter how right you are about something, it doesn’t mean they will change their mind. I used to rehearse speeches and interventions and consider flying to where she was and dragging her off that stage—as if, if I could just get the words right, I could convince her to get sober. You drive yourself crazy, trying to put words in some magical order that will unlock their sanity. And when it doesn’t work, you think, I didn’t try hard enough. I didn’t talk to her clearly enough. But at some point, you have to recognize that you have no control over anybody and you have to step back and be ready to catch them when they fall and that’s all you can do. It feels like throwing yourself to sea. Or, maybe not that. Maybe it’s more like throwing someone you love out to sea and then praying they float on their own, knowing they might well drown and you’ll have to watch.

أيفعل الغياب بكِ كما يفعل بى أيجعل الثلج جمراً فى يديك ؟ أيجعل الماء دماً فى كفيكِ؟ أيجعل النهار ليلاً فى عينيكِ أيجعل النور ظلاماً على رمشيكِ؟ أيجعل الكلام صمتاً بين شفتيكِ؟ أيجعل الحب لعنة سقيمة فى قلبك ؟ أيجعل العشق كذبة تدورُ فى عقلكِ؟ أيجعلك تشتاقين كما اشتاقُ أنا إليكِ أيجعلك مكسورة الجناحين كما تنكسر أجنحتى بعدك؟ هذا ما يصنع غيابك بى وهو فى أرأف حالاته فكيف يكون هو غيابى فى رئتيكِ يا جميلتى؟ = هى وأنا هى النور الرقيق الذى يشتتُ ظلام العتمة وأنا الظل الطويل الذى يرافقها فى كل الأزقة هى المطر الغائبُ عن سحابى مدة وأنا الأرض التى اشتاقت تربتها إلى ماء تلك المطرة

She reached up to caress his cheek, breathing him in. “I don’t want to disappoint you.” He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Impossible.” He carefully removed her glasses and then folded them and set them on the nightstand. “You know that even if we fumble through this, fall off the bed, and pull a muscle, it won’t matter. I’ll still want you as much as I do right now. Probably even more because I’ll want to be sure we try again until we get it right.” Her heart fluttered as she tried to process the acceptance he offered. “Why?” His gaze held hers. “Because from the moment I met you, I felt whole. And with every second I spent with you on the jobsite and at rehab for your ankle after the fire, the more I was yours.” Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find words. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Until the other night, I didn’t think you even noticed me.” “You could have anyone. I just figured…” “You’re the only one.” He shook his head slowly. “I would die for you, Clio. And it has nothing to do with my birthmark and everything to do with you. Your laughter heals the darkness in me, and your wisdom guides everyone around you.

أن تصل متأخراً خير من ان لا تصل ابداً هذه الكذبة التى صنعها لنا التاريخ لم تعد كافية لتسد جوع الحقيقة أن الأشياء التى لا تصل بوقتها لا تستحقنا ابدا واجه نفسك مرة وتعرف عليها إن أقسى مايشوه ملا محك فى الحب هو أن تنظ إليه بعين الأنتظار وحين لا تفهم الحب لا تُحمل الأخرين خطيئة أنك غبى جدا وحين لا تسمع لا ترجم الأخرين بتهم قصر أصواتهم

There wasn't any single moment of bedazzling revelation, it was more of an education process. The more I learned about the nature of addiction, the more I was willing to look at my own behavior and history. And the more I was able to help the people I was in there with, the more it all made sense. A lot of this process came through witnessing the sickness of these people I was in rehab with, for me to see these people and care about them, and to know how slim their chances were of ever changing the demonic possession they had been living with. I realized this was not the jail I wanted to live my life in.

ما أجمل أن تقضى ليلة مع شخص لا تعرفه ولا يعرفك تجمعكما طاولة ومقعدان وتتحدثان عن وجوهكما الضائعة ووجوهكما الجديدة التى لا تليق بكما ماذا لو تفتح له صندوق أسرارك تقاسمه همك تكشف له عيبك وتشكو له الغياب الذى كسر لون قلبك قبل وجهك وتصارحه بهويتك ووطنك وحتى مسكنك الذى تعيش فيه بالأيجار وقبل أن ترحلا تكنسان المكان من بقية أحاديثكما وهمومكما وتتفقان على الا تلتقيان إلى الأبد

Every addiction story wants a villain. But America has never been able to decide whether addicts are victims or criminals, whether addiction is an illness or a crime. So we relieve the pressure of cognitive dissonance with various provisions of psychic labor - some addicts got pitied, others get blamed - that keep overlapping and evolving to suit our purposes: Alcoholics are tortured geniuses. Drug addicts are deviant zombies. Male drunks are thrilling. Female drunks are bad moms. White addicts get their suffering witnessed. Addicts of color get punished. Celebrity addicts get posh rehab with equine therapy. Poor addicts get hard time. Someone carrying crack gets five years in prison, while someone driving drunk gets a night in jail, even though drunk driving kills more people every year than cocaine. In her seminal account of mass incarceration, The New Jim Crow, legal scholar Michelle Alexander points out that many of these biases tell a much larger story about 'who is viewed as disposable - someone to be purged from the body politic - and who is not.' They aren't incidental discrepancies - between black and white addicts, drinkers and drug users - but casualties of our need to vilify some people under the guise of protecting others.

في مرحلة ما من حياتك قد تتعثّر بعلامة استفهام شائكة تورّطك بسلسلة من الاستفهامات العنيدة. وما إن تتصالح معها ينقشع الضباب أمام عينيك ‏وتكون رؤيتك للأشياء عارية دون رتوش، كالحقيقة تماماً ‏"فريدة" تعثّرت وتورطت وتمزّقت وعاشت صراع داخلي جعلها تشعر أن هناك امرأة أخرى تعيش داخلها ‏تناقضها في كل شيء، امرأة ثائرة لا تخاف الكلمات ولن تتردد بالقفز فوق الخطوط الحمراء لتحصل على الاجابة التي تبحث عنها. ‏لم تتوقّع أن تكون الحقيقة جارحة كسكّين حادّة تخترقها من المنتصف، لم تتوقّع أن تكون مؤذية إلى درجة أنها تمنّت أن تعود "امرأة عادية

A’ight, so what do you think it means?” “You don’t know?” I ask. “I know. I wanna hear what YOU think.” Here he goes. Picking my brain. “Khalil said it’s about what society feeds us as youth and how it comes back and bites them later,” I say. “I think it’s about more than youth though. I think it’s about us, period.” “Us who?” he asks. “Black people, minorities, poor people. Everybody at the bottom in society.” “The oppressed,” says Daddy. “Yeah. We’re the ones who get the short end of the stick, but we’re the ones they fear the most. That’s why the government targeted the Black Panthers, right? Because they were scared of the Panthers?” “Uh-huh,” Daddy says. “The Panthers educated and empowered the people. That tactic of empowering the oppressed goes even further back than the Panthers though. Name one.” Is he serious? He always makes me think. This one takes me a second. “The slave rebellion of 1831,” I say. “Nat Turner empowered and educated other slaves, and it led to one of the biggest slave revolts in history.” “A’ight, a’ight. You on it.” He gives me dap. “So, what’s the hate they’re giving the ‘little infants’ in today’s society?” “Racism?” “You gotta get a li’l more detailed than that. Think ’bout Khalil and his whole situation. Before he died.” “He was a drug dealer.” It hurts to say that. “And possibly a gang member.” “Why was he a drug dealer? Why are so many people in our neighborhood drug dealers?” I remember what Khalil said—he got tired of choosing between lights and food. “They need money,” I say. “And they don’t have a lot of other ways to get it.” “Right. Lack of opportunities,” Daddy says. “Corporate America don’t bring jobs to our communities, and they damn sure ain’t quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don’t prepare us well enough. That’s why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don’t get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It’s easier to find some crack than it is to find a good school around here. “Now, think ’bout this,” he says. “How did the drugs even get in our neighborhood? This is a multibillion-dollar industry we talking ’bout, baby. That shit is flown into our communities, but I don’t know anybody with a private jet. Do you?” “No.” “Exactly. Drugs come from somewhere, and they’re destroying our community,” he says. “You got folks like Brenda, who think they need them to survive, and then you got the Khalils, who think they need to sell them to survive. The Brendas can’t get jobs unless they’re clean, and they can’t pay for rehab unless they got jobs. When the Khalils get arrested for selling drugs, they either spend most of their life in prison, another billion-dollar industry, or they have a hard time getting a real job and probably start selling drugs again. That’s the hate they’re giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That’s Thug Life.

- من للمحب ومن يعينه ... والحبُ أهنأه حزينه أنا عرفتُ سوى قساوته ... فقولوا كيف لينُه ؟ إن يُقض دين ذوى الهوى ... فأنا الذى بَقيت دُيُونه قلبى هو الذهب الكريم ... فلا يُفارقه رنينه قلبى هو الألماس يُعرفُ ... من أشعته ثمينُه قلبى يُحب وإنما ... أخلاقه فيه ودينُه يامن يُحب حبيبه ... وبظنه أمسى يُهينه وتعف منه ظواهرُ ... لكنه نَجِسُ يقينه كالقبر غطته الزهورُ ... وتحته عفنُ دَفينه ماذا يكون هواك لو ... كل الذى تهوى يكونُه دع فى ظنونك مَوضعا ... إن الحبيب له ظنونه وخذ الجميل لكى تزينَ ... الحسنَ فيه بما يزينه إن تنقلب لص العفاف ... لمن تحب فمن أمينُه؟ ما لذُة القلب المدَله ... لا يطول به حنينه ؟ ما لذة العقل المُحب ... ولم يُجننه جنونه الحب سجدةُ عابد ... ما أرضه إلا جبينه الحب أفقُ طاهر ... ما أن يدنسه خثونة أفقُ الملائك نفسهُ ... فى الَبدءكان له لَعينه ويلى على متدلل ... ما تنقضى عنى فنونه كيف السلُو وفى فؤادى ... لاتفارقنى عيونه؟

On the TV screen in Harry's is The Patty Winters Show, which is now on in the afternoon and is up against Geraldo Rivera, Phil Donahue and Oprah Winfrey. Today's topic is Does Economic Success Equal Happiness? The answer, in Harry's this afternoon, is a roar of resounding "Definitely," followed by much hooting, the guys all cheering together in a friendly way. On the screen now are scenes from President Bush's inauguration early this year, then a speech from former President Reagan, while Patty delivers a hard-to-hear commentary. Soon a tiresome debate forms over whether he's lying or not, even though we don't, can't, hear the words. The first and really only one to complain is Price, who, though I think he's bothered by something else, uses this opportunity to vent his frustration, looks inappropriately stunned, asks, "How can he lie like that? How can he pull that shit?" "Oh Christ," I moan. "What shit? Now where do we have reservations at? I mean I'm not really hungry but I would like to have reservations somewhere. How about 220?" An afterthought: "McDermott, how did that rate in the new Zagat's?" "No way," Farrell complains before Craig can answer. "The coke I scored there last time was cut with so much laxative I actually had to take a shit in M.K." "Yeah, yeah, life sucks and then you die." "Low point of the night," Farrell mutters. "Weren't you with Kyria the last time you were there?" Goodrich asks. "Wasn't that the low point?" "She caught me on call waiting. What could I do?" Farrell shrugs. "I apologize." "Caught him on call waiting." McDermott nudges me, dubious. "Shut up, McDermott," Farrell says, snapping Craig's suspenders. "Date a beggar." "You forgot something, Farrell," Preston mentions. "McDermott is a beggar." "How's Courtney?" Farrell asks Craig, leering. "Just say no." Someone laughs. Price looks away from the television screen, then at Craig, and he tries to hide his displeasure by asking me, waving at the TV, "I don't believe it. He looks so... normal. He seems so... out of it. So... un dangerous." "Bimbo, bimbo," someone says. "Bypass, bypass." "He is totally harmless, you geek. Was totally harmless. Just like you are totally harmless. But he did do all that shit and you have failed to get us into 150, so, you know, what can I say?" McDermott shrugs. "I just don't get how someone, anyone, can appear that way yet be involved in such total shit," Price says, ignoring Craig, averting his eyes from Farrell. He takes out a cigar and studies it sadly. To me it still looks like there's a smudge on Price's forehead. "Because Nancy was right behind him?" Farrell guesses, looking up from the Quotrek. "Because Nancy did it?" "How can you be so fucking, I don't know, cool about it?" Price, to whom something really eerie has obviously happened, sounds genuinely perplexed. Rumor has it that he was in rehab.