In beauty there lies a kind of power: it allows for self-love, which I think is one of the rarest things on earth.
The most estranging sensation is suddenly catching sight of yourself in a mirror, and not recognising the person staring back at you.
I just realised that the clothes, earrings, bits of paper, spiral-bound photocopies I leave around are effectively the sediment I deposit on the banks of my life.
Being hurt; really, really being hurt is real when the feeling sneaks up on you, anywhere between one minute to an hour after said Hurtful Thing. Its like gashing your knee open, and beginning to cry only when the shock and adrenaline wears off and you feel the pain.
Permanent discontentment is The Human Condition.