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Moving On Quotes

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Moving On Quotes

“- А ти как мислиш, Крис? Дали има смисъл да се върнеш при всички скелети в гардероба, само за да го отвориш и да видиш, че те са още там? – погледът ѝ се променя, но не мога да определя в каква посока. – Мисля, че завръщането е безсмислен стремеж към минало, което няма как да стане настояще. Повечето хора, както вероятно и вашата Джен си мислят, че времето ще се завърти назад и нещата ще станат пак каквито са били, веднага щом го пожелаят. – гледа ме в очите и се чувствам като кръгъл глупак. - Но не става така. Нещата просто се променят. Времето не се върти назад. Сега и аз я поглеждам с мокри очи. Има толкова мъдрост в това момиче, сякаш се е родила преди векове и е преживяла повече нещастия, отколкото щастливи моменти и опита я е превърнал в това, което е сега. Може би точно горчивия ѝ опит е създал момичето, което стои пред мен. Дилън е прав, между нас наистина има нещо, но не съм сигурен какво е. Може би и двамата сме просто двама нещастници с лошо минало. И може би е заради това, но докато Лорън ме гледа се чувствам сякаш вижда не мен, а душата ми. Чувствам се така и когато изрича най-остарелите и най-верни думи на света: - Мисля, че понякога просто трябва да продължиш напред.”

“I rested my chin on my paws, wondering if she’d ever be able to open her heart to another man-human. I knew firsthand how hard it was to try again, to let yourself be loved by someone who could love you back after you’d been hurt. And I knew sometimes when someone said mean things if you were sensitive you couldn’t shake it no matter how much you knew it wasn’t the truth.”

“Behind every death lay a set of questions. To move on was to agree to not disturb these questions, to let them settle with the body under the earth. Yet some questions so thoroughly dismantled the terms of your own life, turning away was gravitationally impossible. So she would not be moving on. She would keep disturbing and disturbing. She imagined herself standing over a grave with a shovel and hacking away at the soil.”

“The relief Kieran felt was staggering. The sick-satisfaction of justice burned through him like an oil spill, waiting for him to drop a match, to let it all go up in flames as he laughed through the rain of hellfire. But he didn’t. He pocketed the metaphysical match. He vacuumed the torrential oil spill. He had just turned his wasteland into a rain forest; he would not let his resentment burn down the trees he had grown out of the garden of his own mind. Kieran himself had come too far to let the angry hand of vengeance burn away his fertile terrains, ruin his harvests of the pure flora kingdom and slaughter his animals to ribbons in sacrifice to greater demons whose jaws never shut. Homeostasis was a hard-earned tendency. Bonfires were clumsy and unwarranted; if he let it consume him and everything he’d built, all he had cultivated would be for nothing. He did not want his flowers to die.”