There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock. People so tired. Mutilated. Either by love or no love. People just are not good to each other. One on one. The rich are not good to the rich. The poor are not good to the poor. We are afraid. Our educational system tells us that we can all be big-ass winners. It hasn’t told us about the gutters. Or the suicides. Or the terror of one person aching in one place. Alone. Untouched. Unspoken to.
by  Charles Bukowski, Love is a Dog From Hell

She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when you’re swimming and you want to put your feet down on something solid, but the water’s deeper than you think and there’s nothing there.
by – Julia Gregson, East of the Sun

Things that matter are not easy. Feelings of happiness are easy. Happiness is not. Flirting is easy. Love is not. Saying you’re friends is easy. Being friends is not.
by David Levithan

I am scared that I do not really want to get well, and that I am the greatest obstacle to my recovery. Why would I do this to myself? Why would I inflict this much pain, turn my life upside down, twist my stomach in knots, run from friends, family even from entire countries?
by  Samantha Schutz, I Don’t Want to be Crazy

I want to get more confident being uncertain. I don’t want to shrink back just because something isn’t easy. I want to push back, and make more room in the area between I can’t and I can.
by  Kristin Armstrong

I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body. You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name. I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me. You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you. You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own. But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone. And you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home.
by Unknown