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Okay. Well. Here’s a real. question. How long do you think it takes to get over someone dying? Someone you really loved, I mean.
(...)
Woah. Well. I’m not sure you ever do. Really. I’ve thought about it a lot. You learn to live with it, with them. Because they do stay with you, even if they’re not living, breathing people any more. It’s not the same crushing grief you felt at first, the kind that swamps you, and makes you want to cry in the wrong places, and get irrationally angry with all the idiots who are still alive when the person you love is dead. It’s just something you learn to accommodate. Like adapting around a hole. I don’t know. It’s like you become... a doughnut instead of a bun. (p. 137)

I think I miss having someone to discuss things with, I said carefully.
There was a murmur of agreement.
I mean, I’m not one of those people who has a massive circle of friends. I was with my last boyfriend for ages and we ... we didn’t really go out much. And then there was... Bill. We just used to talk all the time. About music, about people, and things we’d done and wanted to do and I never worried about whether I was going to say the wrong thing or offend someone because he just „got“ me, you know? And now I’ve moved to London and I’m sort of on my own, apart from my family and talking to them is always... tricky.
And now there’s something going on that I’d really like to chat to him about. I talk to him in my head, but it isn’t the same.
I miss having that... ability to just go, „Hey, what do you think of this?“ And knowing that whatever he said was probably going to be the right thing. (p. 141)

I couldn’t call my mother or my sister: I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretence of happiness in front of them. (p. 214)

Jojo Moyes: After you
3.2.16 15:23


And then it struck me - why we were both so comfortable, here, on this one night, as complete strangers. Maybe we both had something to hide. Maybe we both enjoyed the company of someone who didn’t know us well enough to judge us. Maybe we were both so sick of faking it - our breathing had somehow become natural around each other, the way it should be and not a struggle like it usually was. (p. 15)Jay McLean: Where the road takes me
3.2.16 15:13


What’s the matter? he said.
I don’t know, I said.
We still have ... he said. But he didn’t go on to say what we still had. It occurred to me that he shouldn’t be saying _we, since nothing that I knew of had been taken away from him.
We still have each other, I said. It was true. Then why did I sound, even to myself, so indifferent?
He kissed me then, as if now I’d said that, things could get back to normal. But something had shifted, some balance. I felt shrunken, so that when he puts his arms around me, gathering me up, I was small as a doll. I felt love going forward without me.
He doesn’t mind this, I thought. He doesn’t mind it at all. Maybe he even likes it. We are not each other’s, anymore. Instead, I am his. (p. 182)

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
Don’t let the bastards get you down. (p. 292)

Margaret Atwood: The Handmaid’s Tale.
3.2.16 15:08


I think you’re the sort of person who finds money on the ground and waves it in the air and asks if anyone has lost it. I think you cry in movies that aren’t even sad because you have a soft heart, though you don’t let it show. I think you do things that scare you, and that makes you braver than those adrenaline junkies who bungee-jump off bridges. (p. 85)

But then Mason touches my neck, to the spot on it where the cut from that night has since healed, and I pull away.
He was right, after all; it didn’t leave a scar, though part of me wishes it had. At least I’d have some evidence, some justification of this permanence. Stains are even worse when you’re the only one who can see them. (p. 170)

I think of me and Melanie when we were younger, hold hands as we jumped, but by the time we swam back up to the surface, we’d have let go. No matter how we tried, once we started swimming, we always let go. But after we bobbed to the surface, we’d climb out of the pool, clamber up the high-dive ladder, clasp hands, and to it again.
We’re swimming separately now. I get that. Maybe it’s just what you have to do to keep above water. But who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll climb out, grab hands, and jump again. (p. 285)

Gayle Forman: Just one day
3.2.16 14:59


The only thing that I do know is that, whether she’s mad or happy or sad or excited, she has this calming energy that radiates from her. Every day of my life it feels as if I#m fighting my way up an escalator that only goes down. And no matter how fast or how hard I run to try to reach the top, I stay in the same place, sprinting, getting nowhere. But when I#m with her it doesn’t feel like I’m on that escalator. It feels as if I’m on a moving walkway, and I’m effortlessly just carried along. Like I can finally relax and take a breath and not feel the constant pressure to sprint in order to prevent hitting rock bottom.
Her presence calms me, relaxes me, makes me feel as though maybe things aren’t as hard as they appear to be when she isn’t around. So no matter how pathetic we may seem right now, sitting on the floor of the women’s restroom, there isn’t anywhere else I would rather be at this moment. (p. 104)

My mother says there are people you meet and get to know, and then there are people you meet and already know. I feel like Owen is the latter. Our personalities seem to complement each other, like we’ve known one another our whole lives. (p. 157)

I laugh, and the tenderness that enters his eyes at the sound of my laughter makes me realize that this is what I want. Selflessness. It should be the basis of every relationship. If a person truly cares about you, they’ll get more pleasure from the way they make _you feel, rather than the way you make _them feel. (p. 271)

Colleen Hoover: Confess.
3.2.16 14:50


Man muss sich auflehnen. Man muss das Schicksal selber in die Hand nehmen. Man muss mit Verstand und Schläue eingreifen.
Das hilft zwar nichts, denn die von oben sind stärker, aber das ist besser, als vor sich hin zu leben wie ein Ochse und zu warten, was kommt.

In: Cholonek oder Der liebe Gott aus Lehm. Von Janosch.
3.2.16 14:42


Wenn man immer wieder über etwas spricht, was man vermeiden will, erreicht man dadurch das Gegenteil.
S. 72

Die psychotherapeutische Kunst ist, die verborgenen oder vergessenen Kräfte und Fähigkeiten des Patienten zu entdecken, sie dann gut zu beleuchten und auf diese Weise dafür zu sorgen, dass auch der Patient selbst sich anders sieht und deswegen freundlicher und respektvoller mit sich selbst umgeht.
S. 73

Vor allem aber nimmt der Trend zu, Lebenskrisen zu Krankheiten zu erklären. Wenn eine Frau plötzlich von ihrem Mann verlassen worden ist, dann kann das tief erschütternd sein. So etwas ist manchmal schlimmer als eine schwere Depression. Das ist aber keine Krankheit. Das ist eine gesunde Reaktion auf eine schreckliche Situation. Und da hilft dann am besten eine gute Freundin, sie selbst so etwas mal durchgestanden hat, die sie nachts anrufen kann, wenn ihr die Decke auf den Kopf fällt, die sie einfach in den Arm nimmt und mit der sie auch mal ausgehen kann.
S. 75

Aus: Wie Sie unvermeidlich glücklich werden. Von Manfred Lütz.
3.2.16 14:37


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