Cheryl Strayed, Wild: From Lost To Found On The Pacific Crest Trail Quotes
He kissed me hard and I kissed him back harder, like it was the end of an era that had lasted all of my life.
There's no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. What leads to what. What destroys what. What causes what to flourish or die or take another course.
In my perception, the world wasn't a graph or formula or an equation. It was a story.
I didn't feel sad or happy. I didn't feel proud or ashamed. I only felt that in spite of all the things I'd done wrong, in getting myself here, I'd done right.
Very nice, " said Rick after a while. "Very nice, " he repeated, with more emphasis the second time. "What is?" I asked, turning to him, though I knew. "Everything, " he said. And it was true.
He felt like a brother of mine, but not at all like my actual brother. He seemed like someone I'd always know even if I never saw him again.
The sky didn't wonder where it was.
.. And now it was official: I loved REI more than I loved the people behind Snapple lemonade.
It was really over, I thought. There was no way to go back, to make it stay. There was never that.
It felt now as if I'd never known them and I couldn't know them again. It seemed to me that whatever had existed back in the place where I'd grown up was so far away now, impossible to retrieve.
I'd never had a mind for math. ... It was a logic that made little sense to me. In my perception, the world wasn't a graph or a formula or an equation. It was a story.
And now it was official: I loved REI more than I loved the people behind Snapple lemonade.
Perhaps by now I'd come far enough that I had the guts to be afraid.
A beloved daughter who now spent holidays alone.
I put her burnt bones into my mouth and swallowed them whole.
But now that she was dying, I knew everything. My mother was in me already. Not just the parts of her that I knew, but the parts of her that had come before me too.
There was the woman I was before my mom died and the one I was now, my old life sitting on the surface of me like a bruise.
What if I forgave myself even though I'd done something I shouldn't have?
In the mornings, my pain was magnified by about a thousand. In the morning there weren’t only those sad facts about my life. Now there was also the additional fact that I was a pile of shit.
Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves...