different

The people you think are the happiest are usually the saddest; that's because they see more and feel deeper than others do. They are the sensitive and they see beyond the veil of what's tangible and what's not. They wear no masks and can see through the masks of others. The sensitive to life are few in number, which is why they feel so alone...because they are all alone.

Maybe anosognosia, the inability to see your own disability, is the human condition and I'm the only one who doesn't suffer from it.

The nail that sticks out farthest gets hammered the hardest.

So it's as if,' I say, 'I'm okay in my own bones, but I know that my bones aren't living up to other people's version of what a life should be, and I feel a little crushed by that, to be honest, a little confused as to how to align the two things: to be an acceptable member of society but to be able to be my own bones both at once.

There really isn't much wrong with me,' I say, 'it's just that, well, I'm not like other people; I don't want the things they want. And this is not right, I mean, in other people's eyes, and I feel as though they feel they are duty-bound to normalise me, that it isn't okay just to not want the things they want, you know?

Beyond the late Fifties everything faded. When there were no external records that you could refer to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness. You remembered huge events which had quite probably not happened, you remembered the details of incidents without being able to recapture their atmosphere, and there were long blank periods to which you could assign nothing. Everything had been different then.

Flowers are evil, because they live just to die for the love of other people. You don__ believe me? Try it for yourself and see if you__l be good afterwards. Undeath is a way of life, for some things. That doesn__ make it good or anything. Especially anything. Nothing makes anything anything. Because nothing is a serious matter, and anything just is.

Writers are never fully present because they__e always imagining a different version of the way things are happening; imagining the past in a different way, imagining the present in a different way, imagining the future in a different way.

Okay we both know... what happens... with sex... different places... different time... different date... different rooms... the biatch is still bitchy.... very bitchy as pitchy.... The agony - DOOOOOO YOU FEEL IT?- wE JUST PREDICTED THE FUTURE!

If we weren__ already doing it this way, is this the way we would start?

My beauty is my eccentricity, when I am out people stare at me and speak, look at that creative guy, unique guy, different guy.

Yes, be different, but not for the vanities of being different.

And being different? That turned out to the best part of all. I found that with a little creativity, and a lot of dedication, any difference can be turned into something amazing. Our differences are our superpowers.

Sometimes a writer simply finds new ways of saying what has already been said because, ultimately, truth is unoriginal.

People can waste a large amount of their time trying to be accepted by people. Sometimes, God meant for you not to fit. You never know, you may hold the unique perspective that when voiced or demonstrated will change generations.

Everyone wears masks.They come in all different shapes and sizes.The only problem with trying one on is that it fits. How easily we fall into the trap that we don__ have to be who we really are.How easily we convince ourselves that we need to cover up what we were born to be.It__ a tragedy that fear keeps us from our destiny.It__ hell when the person you were created to be is covered up by some cheap imposter

Being different is the only way to live

Even I don__ know myself... In fact, I don__ know if I really have a self at all, as I__ constantly playing different roles and pretending _ not so much on stage as in real life...