Quotes added on Thursday, January 22 2015

Most diseases are caused not so much by what we eat, but more by what is eating us-RVM
 
FOR GOD SAKES BLACK LIVES MATTER HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE AND PARADE AROUND EVERY DAMN COURTROOM IN THE WORLD TO SHOW THAT THEY MATTER.

got racks on racks on racks
John asked Clara
To take
A walk with him
And pick flowers.
But Clara’s brother
Came along
And so
They picked flowers.

— North Carolina Boll Weevil, 1929
People are temporary, they come and go. 
Books, they are forever .
Always there to caress you back to sleep.
People humiliate you, walk off while;
books cradle you.
They become the marrow in your bones. 
Like fluoride in the water, they make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.

how much
 can you actually accomplish in an hour? Run an errand maybe, sit in traffic, get an oil change? When you think about it, an hour isn’t very long. Sixty minutes, thirty six hundrend seconds, that’s it. It can change everything, forever. An hour can save your life. An hour can change your life. Sometimes it is just a gift we give ourselves. For some, it can mean almost nothing. For others, an hour means all the difference in the world but in the end, it’s still just an hour. One of many, many more to come. Sixty minutes, thirty six hundred seconds, that’s it and it starts all over again and who knows what the next hour might hold.


recovery
is not a team sport. It’s a solitary distance run. It’s long. It’s exhausting and it’s lonely as hell.

The length of your recovery is determined by the extent of your injuries and is not always successful. No matter how hard we work at it, some wounds might never fully heal. You might have to adjust to a whole new way of living. Things may have changed too radically to ever go back to what they were. You might not even recognize yourself. It’s like you haven’t recovered anything at all. You’re a whole new person with a whole new life.

what if life gave you mangoes instead of lemons 
“I hated labels anyway. People didn’t fit in slots—prostitute, housewife, saint—like sorting the mail. We were so mutable, fluid with fear and desire, ideals and angles, changeable as water.”
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