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... and still I stayed to plan all my revenge, my vengeance against those who had turned me from good to evil, and made of me what I was going to be from this day forward.
Virginia C. Andrews
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Virginia C. Andrews
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Promises are lies wrapped in pretty ribbons -Cinnamon
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Time doesn't heal scars as most people commonly think. It simply makes them firmer, stiffer. One must accept it and not hope to mend and return to what he or she once was.
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Tragedy had sent me headlong into reality. All the things I had seen before now looked different, even nature.
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Love doesn't always come when you want it to. Sometimes it just happens, despite your will.
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Love, when it came and knocked on my door, was going to be enough. And that unknown author who'd written that if you had fame, it was not enough, and if you had wealth as well, it was still not enough, and if you had fame, wealth, and also love ... still it was not enough - boy, did I feel sorry for him.
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Life is like that - twenty minutes of misery for every two seconds of joy.
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Mine are the deep-seated fears established when we are children, and they never quite go away: the fear of being helpless, the fear of being trapped, the fear of being out of control.
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Seek the tarnish and you shall find
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I am a pretty, useless ornament who always believed she'd have a man to take care of her.
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What is normal? Normal is only ordinary mediocre. Life belongs to the rare, exceptional individual who dares to be different.
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Patience. I colored patience gray, hung over with black clouds. I colored hope yellow, just like the sun we could see for a few short morning hours. Too soon the sun rose high in the sky & disappeared from view, leaving us bereft and staring at blue.
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love, is an unnatural attachment to another living thing. it's the root cause of most personal problems people have.
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Dreams, I thought. They're the riches of a poor person, stashed in treasure chests buried deeply in the imagination. But are dreams enough?
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It is so appropriate to color hope yellow, like the sun we seldom saw. And as I begin to copy from the old memorandum journals that I kept for so long, a title comes as if inspired. 'Open the Window and Stand in the Sunshine.' Yet, I hesitate to name our story that. For I think of us more as flowers in the attic.
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People never really died. They only went on to a better place, to wait a while for their loved ones to join them. And then once more they went back to the world, in the same way they had arrived the first time around.
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My thoughts took frantic flight, wanting to escape this prison, and seek out the wind so it could fan my hair and sting my skin, and make me feel alive again.
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Only someone who had cried a great deal understands why someone else wants to stop the tears.
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It's funny how when you're little, you miss all the little lies. They float right past you, but you don't wonder about them much. For a long time, you think this is just something adults still do after being kids - pretend.
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Life offers more than one chance, Cathy, you know that.
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The creative genius begins in the idle moment, dreaming up the impossible, and later making it come true.
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