And that’s the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn’t always something you can fight back against with hope. It isn’t even something — it’s nothing. And you can’t combat nothing. You can’t fill it up. You can’t cover it. It’s just there, pulling the meaning out of everything. That being the case, all the hopeful, proactive solutions start to sound completely insane in contrast to the scope of the problem.
It would be like having a bunch of dead fish, but no one around you will acknowledge that the fish are dead. Instead, they offer to help you look for the fish or try to help you figure out why they disappeared.
That’s the thing about cake…it demands to be eaten.
This is the most brilliant thing out of all things that are brilliant.
I ate the cake the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once…
My thoughts are like icing I can’t fathom into lettering…
It would be a pleasure to have my cake eaten by you, Hazel Grace.
It’s a metaphor, see. You put the cake between your teeth but you don’t give it the power to be tasty.
This is perfection.
If you ever want to shut me up, let me ride shotgun, turn the music up, wind down the windows and drive me down a dark road under a starry sky.
This is when I’m at my best.
I have a passionate love affair with the way the world looks from a moving vehicle.