“The bullet is followed by the silence of the grave, but a wasted youth is followed by years of grief and agonising memories.” GriefBulletWasted YouthAgonising Memories Author:Anton Chekhov
“with his words in my head I slept for thirty or forty forevers while the grass shrieked and the trees tremored it was crazy letting my youth pass like that giving myself up to the abstract fears balconies collapsing over the east river as far as the eye could see until all is miniature wind over water without end when I am dead I will have something to say about death & all the men stretched out a girl must be a graveyard I am a descendant of fields and want to keep my mind off it, especially” DeathPoetryPoemAnxietyStormFearsDeborah LandauThe Last Usable HourWasted Youth Book:The Last Usable Hour Source: The Last Usable Hour
“Once upon a time I'd left Los Angeles and been swallowed down the throat of a life in which my sole loyalty was to my tongue. My belly. Myself. My mother called me selfish and so selfish I became. From nineteen to twenty-five I was a mouth, sating. For myself I made three-day braises and chose the most marbled meats, I played loose with butter and cream. My arteries were young, my life pooling before me, and I lapped, luxurious, from it. I drank, smoked, flew cheap red-eyes around Europe, I lived in thrilling shitholes, I found pills that made nights pass in a blink or expanded time to a soap bubble, floating, luminous, warm. Time seemed infinite, then. I begged famous chefs for the chance to learn from them. I entered competitions and placed in a few. I volunteered to work brunch, turn artichokes, clean the grease trap. I flung my body at all of it: the smoke and singe of the grill station, a duck's breast split open like a geode, two hundred oysters shucked in the walk-in, sex in the walk-in, drunken rides around Paris on a rickety motorcycle and no helmet, a white truffle I stole and shaved in secret over a bowl of Kraft mac n' cheese for me, just me, as my body strummed the high taut selfish song of youth. On my twenty-fifth birthday I served black-market fugu to my guests, the neurotoxin stinging sweetly on my lips as I waited to see if I would, by eating, die. At that age I believed I knew what death was: a thrill, like brushing by a friend who might become a lover.” SelfishHungryChefAutobiographyPast LifePlaying With FireFuguImpulsive BehaviorWasted YouthGluttonous Book:Land of Milk and Honey Source: Land of Milk and Honey
“I am tired of undressing to no comment, years and years of youth wasted to the particles in the air.” UnwantedWasted TimeVirginUnappreciatedAnalicia SoteloWasted YouthSexually FrustratedUndesired Book:Virgin Source: Virgin