Perhaps, the problem is not the intensity of your love, but the quality of the people you are loving.
I didn’t know what to say. I felt like crying, Goddammit everybody in the world wants an explanation for your acts and for your very being.
|—||Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via unsunglory)|
I suppose that it begins or does not begin in the cradle. Although I have felt compelled to write things down since I was five years old, I doubt that my daughter ever will, for she is a singularly blessed and accepting child, delighted with life exactly as life presents itself to her, unafraid to go to sleep and unafraid to wake up. Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.
Joan Didion, On Keeping A Notebook
There are many days where I feel as if Joan Didion has already said everything.