64
" Good dreams don't have to fade upon waking. We each hold in ourselves the best of all of us, and the worst. Change happens every day. We who go to bed at night are not the we who woke up. The you of tomorrow may not recognize the you of today, but wouldn't it be a shame if you don't recognize who you're going to be?Your mind is powerful. Use it to stretch the edges of yourself, find the loops that keep you in place and introduce something new, or take something out. Change happens every day. It's what separates the animate from the inanimate, the plant from the stone. The moment you stop changing is the moment you stop being alive.All living things grow, but only physically. To be human is to grow mentally, emotionally. You are not the you of yesterday, let alone yesteryear. From the worst of us to the best, each has grown, and each can grow more. The moment you stop growing is the moment you stop exemplifying that which is uniquely human. Change happens every day. When you change, you can change back. You can cut away who you were and start anew, and then do it again in reverse. But when you grow, you build on who you were. You cannot unknow what you make a part of you, what you keep of yourself. There is no going back: only forward. Only upwards. Only outwards.Everything in you is a tool you can wield. We each can create the reason behind everything in our lives. Change happens every day. When you apply a reason for the good in you, the bad in you, you plot a map that your future self will walk. Choice is more than an action in a moment. Choice is an attitude in a lifetime.Change happens every day. Choose to grow. "
68
" It used to be said, not so long ago, that every suicide gave Satan special pleasure. I don't think that's true—unless it isn't true either that the Devil is a gentleman. If the Devil has no class at all, then okay, I agree: He gets a bang out of suicide. Because suicide is a mess. As a subject for study, suicide is perhaps uniquely incoherent. And the act itself is without shape and without form. The human project implodes, contorts inward—shameful, infantile, writhing, gesturing. It's a mess in there. "
― Martin Amis , Night Train
69
" Deep down, Story Easton knew what would happen if she attempted to off herself—she would fail It was a matter of probability. This was not a new thing, failure. She was, had always been, a failure of fairy-tale proportion. Quitting wasn’t Story’s problem. She had tried, really tried, lots of things during different stages of her life—Girl Scours, the viola, gardening, Tommy Andres from senior year American Lit—but zero cookie sales, four broken strings, two withered azalea bushes, and one uniquely humiliating breakup later, Story still had not tasted success, and with a shriveled-up writing career as her latest disappointment, she realized no magic slippers or fairy dust was going to rescue her from her Anti-Midas Touch. No Happily Ever After was coming. So she had learned to find a certain comfort in failure. In addition to her own screw-ups, others’ mistakes became cozy blankets to cuddle, and she snuggled up to famous failures like most people embrace triumph. The Battle of Little Bighorn—a thing of beauty. The Bay of Pigs—delicious debacle. The Y2K Bug—gorgeously disappointing fuck-up. Geraldo’s anti-climactic Al Capone exhumation—oops! Jaws III—heaven on film. Tattooed eyeliner—eyelids everywhere, revolting. Really revolting. Fat-free potato chips—good Lord, makes anyone feel successful. "