Keeps Everyone Away Quotes & Sayings

I knew she was not telling me the truth. I asked her again what had happned because I don't like it when she keeps something from me. She's not allowed. Because when she lies, someting inside me changes, and it's like the WHOLE WORLD is one way and I'm the other. Like I can't trust a thing, as if the whole world knows a secret I don't and I'm running around from person to person asking them to tell me but they won't and the more I don't know what is going on the more scared I become and I feel myself drifting farther and farther away from everyone. — Jack Gantos

I didn't know jack, but I did know that even after the people you love are torn from you, time keeps beating away at the black metronome that's called life. It doesn't care that you've cracked wide open, that you're screaming for everyone to just stop. It doesn't hear you. You are nothing. People still go to dinner, planes take off and land, lions roar, violins play. And you are left in your corner, hanging on to memories, nothing more than a speck of dust on the metronome's base. - from the journal of Violet St. Lyons — Ilsa Madden-Mills

They want you to be afraid. They want to believe, and they want to suffer, suffer, only suffer, and they choke the dying man to make them suffer even more, so they'll suffer till their last breath, so that no good moment can ever exist. If the rocks and water rip away your face, it's for the sake of everyone. If you live with the belief that the river will carry away the village, you won't think about anything else. Let the suffering be removed, but not desire, because desire keeps you alive. That's why they're afraid. They are consumed by the fear of desire. They want you to suffer so they won't think about desire. You're maimed when you're little, the fear is hammered into the back of your head. Because desire keeps you alive, they kill it off while you're growing up. — Merce Rodoreda

Everyone just keeps on disappearing. Some things vanish, like they were cut away. Others fade slowly into the mist. And all that remains is a desert. — Haruki Murakami

As far as I can figure, the way that it works is this: everyone has something that happened to them. The thing that we each carry. And you can see it in people, if you look. See it in the way someone walks, in the way someone takes a compliment, sometimes you can just see it in someone's eyes. In one moment of desperation, of fear, in one quick moment you can see that thing that happened. Everyone has it. The thing that keeps you up at night, or makes you not trust people, or stops love. The thing that hurts. And to stop it, to stop the hurt, you have to turn it into a story. And not just a story you play over and over for yourself, but a story that you tell. A story's not a story unless you tell it. And once you tell it, it's not yours anymore. You give it away. And once you give it away, it's not something that hurts you anymore, it's something that helps everyone who hears it. It's the kind of thing that's hard to explain. It's probably best if we just show you how it works. — Daniel MacIvor

Dude, I told you she was a man-eater."
"That's the thing, she isn't. She is actually an amazing woman. Tough as nails, and man she keeps me on my toes, but she has a heart of gold that she hides from everyone. I really do believe that she was made for me, and I don't care how girly that sounds."
Erick scoffed. "No worries, when a dude is really in love, he turns into a freaking girl. It's scary. So stay away from girls, they are icky and will make you do stupid things. Okay, buddy? — Toni Aleo

On the other hand, there is the person in my family, who surprisingly is not me, who keeps nearly every scrap of paper she's ever touched, just in case, just in case the world is ending and everyone has enough food and water but needs ephemera, needs slips of paper, needs old articles and wrapping paper and tax documents and someone else's past to stand in for the past of us all.
I hover somewhere between these two worlds, saving some memories, letting others fritter and slip away. Down one of these paths, it seems to me, the obsessive compulsive holding on and the equally aggressive letting go, lies madness, and even I don't know which one. Culturally and personally both
who can say, which path leads to the better place? — Liz Stephens