You can't rely on love. Love will let you down every time. Every. Single. Time.
Barry LygaI don't know and I don't care anymore. I was supposed to have my way for once, just once in my life. I did everything right and I got nothing for it.
I want to kill them all. no, better yet, I want to die. No, even bettter than that: I want to kill them all then die.
Stichwörter: suicidal-thoughts
When you feel like things are out of control, you take control.
Yeah, that's what you do. Take control.
So, yeah.
Oh, yeah.
Stichwörter: control
You and your scars. Please! You don't kill youself like this!" I gesture, holding a wrist turned up to the ceiling, then pretending to cut across it with my other hand. "That's just a cry for help. That's just attention. Everbody knows that. Cutting across just gets you to the hospital. That's just from movies and TV shows and stuff like that. You didn't really try to kill yourself. you just wanted attention, but you screwed up. Try harder next time.
Barry LygaI won't let myself be used or manipulated. I won't let myself be a hypocrite.
I am foe me.
I am not weak.
For anyone.
Are you stalking me, Mr. Fulton?" The idea both amused and horrified Jazz.
Barry LygaStichwörter: stalker
Psychologist: "This, ah, is a new sort of, ah, psychopathology that we're only now beginning to, ah, understand. These, ah, super-serial killers have no, ah, 'type' but, ah, rather consider everyone to be their 'type.'"
Gramma: "Did you hear that? Your daddy's a superhero!
Stichwörter: psychology serial-killers dementia
What was the opposite of linkage blindness? What described being certain of something without any kind of evidence?
...The term was faith.
Stichwörter: faith
A river of images and thoughts and feelings, dirtied and polluted so that no one could drink from it without gagging.
Barry LygaStichwörter: metaphor
Jazz hadn't given her many details of exactly what life in the Dent house had been like, but he'd told her enough that she knew it wasn't hearts and flowers. Well, except for the occasional heart cut from a chest. And the kind of flowers you send to funerals.
Barry LygaStichwörter: black-humor
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